


My Thoughts Be Bloody

by iamtheelvenprince



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Abuse, Action, Betrayal, But everybody already knew that, Crossover Pairings, Dubious parental relationships, Dumbledore is an asshole, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Flames in Hogwarts, Gen, Hamlet - Freeform, I Don't Even Know, Lightning Division is a shit show, M/M, Mind Rape, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Nono Vongola is also a piece of shit, Not What It Looks Like, Romance, Song recs, VARIA Family is only family, a lot of Shakespeare, and a gay crisis in there somewhere, fake memories, identity crisis, music inspired, non consensual mind changes, such an au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 149,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23121091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamtheelvenprince/pseuds/iamtheelvenprince
Summary: ...or be nothing worth. Oh, but she was a liar, and she was a very good one. No one could play the game the same way, no one could ever hope to match her. Half-truths, white lies, black lies, all falling from blood red lips and smirking in poison green eyes.
Relationships: Belphegor/Xanxus (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Hibari Kyouya/Original Female Character(s), Theodore Nott/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 210





	1. My Thoughts Be Bloody

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-Posted on fanfiction.net under pen name 'Siofra Prince'  
> .  
> “Liar”, by Lucas King  
> .  
> “My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.”- Hamlet, William Shakespeare

.  
Her arrival into the magical world left a lot to be desired.  
The introduction was lacklustre and uninformative, the people backwards and unimaginative, the culture stagnant and misogynistic, and her guide too ignorant a buffoon to give her a proper tour. She felt a momentary disdain for the ‘peasantry’, before a migraine overtook her need to make her opinions known, and she forgot what she was supposed to be upset about. The half-giant had her key, could access her gold, could’ve been robbing her blind and she wouldn’t have known, and…  
The children were all pathetic, mewling leeches who lacked ambition and drive, and wasted their time (and hers) playing around when they should have been planning and plotting. She had been the centre of attention from the moment her name was called, from the moment her robes changed to red and gold (blood and riches, her birth right), throughout classes as she left the pitiful masses behind, left basic study and progressed right into advanced learning.  
“A genius.” Her teachers called her.  
“A showoff.” Retorted her peers.  
They were jealous, and unaccustomed to working hard for what they wanted (blackyellow, bronzeblue, they would whisper behind her back in first year, not redgold), the teachers barely doing their jobs, irritation dictating her sharp, aggressive movements and acidic tongue in order to teach these peasants their place. But in their eyes, she could do no wrong.  
.  
More the fool they.  
.  
Oh, but she was a liar, and she was a very good one. No one could play the game the same way, no one could ever hope to match her. Half-truths, white lies, black lies, all falling from blood red lips and smirking in poison green eyes. Many puppets, tangled in her wires, dancing along to the tune the way she wanted, knowing nothing but their own insignificant existence, their inadequate ideals. They had thought her a golden girl, one that they could put upon a pedestal and worship, all the while planning to throw her to the wolves when the time came, expecting her to go quietly, lamblike, meek, weak. (Greensilver, they began to hiss in her second year, not redgold).  
She wouldn’t. She would never succumb to their pathetic ideals and imaginings. For she had a much greater prize, and much greater gift than their pathetic magic. She had the fire that burned through her very veins, the fire that scorched her professor in her first year, until there was nothing left but ashes. She’d laughed then, low and delighted, in that room of stone, with no one to witness the murder she’d committed (a pleasant buzz, and a high that lasted until the end of the school year). She’d lied then, as well. Plastered on a look of horror and distress, gone to the hospital wing hysterical and crying and pleaded the Headmaster not to send her away, she didn’t mean to kill her professor but he was so close and he was going to kill her…  
.  
They all fell for it, hook, line and sinker.  
.  
She had meant to do it. Relished it, even, feeling the blood sing as the man screamed beneath her hands, the wraith dying just as quickly to the red flames and she had laughed as the sweet sensation of death filled the air. How could she not, when the Peverell blood ran thick with Blackness thought her body. When she had dreams of flames, of destruction, and high pitched laughter and that damning green light, and red falling, falling, falling down and red that filled her vision.  
She knew that she was never going to be what they wanted, but if she could fool them (black hair, Potter hair, green eyes, Black heart), then more the fools they, for while they were busy admiring the flower, they failed to see the serpent underneath (hidden in redgoldlionbravechilvalrous) that was waiting to strike and pump them full of venom (dripping from false smiles and honeyed words).  
.  
(She had such cold eyes, Draco Malfoy once said, eyes that could stare into your soul and judge you, and more often than not, find you severely lacking).  
.  
But there were other dreams too.  
.  
Of sunny yellow, misty indigo, electric green, rainy blue, purple clouds and a burning, angry sky that encompassed them all, but sheltered them from the worst of humanity as much as they could. Of a small, floating snake and strangely enough, a shark. But there was one other thing she dreamed of, and it was of a boy, of whom the very sight will fill her with such an intense hatred that she often woke to the screaming of her dorm mates as her hangings caught fire (such pretty, pretty fire) but the hatred stayed, just boiling beneath her skin.  
There was a hollowness, too, just below her ribcage (Pansy Parkinson said that it was because she didn’t have a heart. After that comment, Parkinson didn’t have a left hand), and she always felt like she was supposed to be searching for….something, to fill the void. Oh, she had tried, and only Luna Lovegood had come close to something substantial, but the blonde had sang something about how a storm can only happen in the sky, but the mist would hide the storm for now (but it ached less when she was around the younger girl, somehow, and she liked the company). Her skin itched and itched and felt like a strange covering, yet she couldn’t remember why. She felt caged, trapped, and there were eyes watching her every move and it made her spine crawl. There was something so very, very wrong with this school, underneath all the magic and dust motes and smiles and laughter, something rotten at the very core and she wanted out.  
She didn’t belong here, and that much was obvious, no matter how much Hermione Granger tried to reassure her that she had trouble fitting in as well, no matter how much Ron and Ginny Weasley insisted that she belonged there (but she never listened to liars). Fay Dunbar knew, had whispered in the early hours of the morning when everyone else was asleep that Fay didn’t belong there either, but they were both stuck (sweet, quiet Fay, who had smiles that never reached her own cold, frozen eyes, who lied as well as she did) until there was a small chance of escape (Fay had managed to disappear over the winter of her third year, a note drenched in her magical signature proving its legitimacy, and she had felt the smallest stirrings of jealousy, had Luna not been with her).  
There were memories, as well, of two fat pigs (ripe for slaughter, meat packed onto the bones) and an emaciated horse (with a craning neck and a penchant for eavesdropping), echoes of her name (it didn’t fit, it never had) and everything felt weird and she found herself dissociating numerous times (wrongwrongwrongs, her mind would scream), find herself walking outside at night with no clue as to how she got there, seeking dark alleys for no reason, falling in with ‘the wrong crowd’ (bright, neon hair reminded her of someone dear, and hoods of a close friend, but who), only to wake up back in her room (lockscupboardtrapped) with torn feet and a haze over her mind.  
She had never felt as confused, as disorientated as this, and there was something screaming at her to leave, an urging to curse in various languages that she wasn’t supposed to know, to slice all those who irritated her up into small tiny pieces with knives and wires and to laugh while the world burned with the pretty flames that danced in her hands, in her eyes, in her mind.  
.  
Because if she wasn’t Belladonna Vulpecula Potter (the Black Potter, they muttered in her third year, the Dark Witch), then who was she?  
.  
.  
.  
.


	2. Be Not To Tame Neither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Be not too tame neither…” Hamlet: Act 3, Scene 2

.

The story starts something like this.

.

Prince Selaphiel was three when he realized that his older twin got _far more_ attention than he did ( _equaltwinwhataboutme)_ and he _hated_ it. Sure, he had the nice peasant ( _warmsmileshugs)_ that took care of him, but she wasn’t his mother ( _thespareonlyaspare)._ The Prince learnt an important lesson early on; he didn’t matter to his family.

.

Selaphiel was six when his twin tried to murder him in cold blood. He was six when he eviscerated his mirror image, and proceeded to slaughter all that resided in the castle that was never his home ( _coldeyescoldheartscoldwords)_ in a fit of pure, blackout rage. He did not come back to himself until he came face to face with the nice peasant whom had taken care of him ( _go, my Prince,_ she had smiled at him, darkness in her eyes, _be free, and do not forget your place.)_ She had a merciful death, resigned to her fate, but with a smug grin on her face ( _warmthtocoldsaltwetremorse)_ even as he slit her throat. Her last gift was a cache of cash and a passport in his name that he used to escape the country ( _coldalwayscoldsnowsorefeet)_ , travelling over the mountains near the end of winter, weeks before the thaw.

.

( _It was the snow that froze his heart,_ the villagers would whisper, _froze it solid as he ghosted through towns. The Ice Prince, the Bloody Prince, the Red Prince of the North.)_

_._

Selaphiel was seven when he stumbled upon the Varia, picked up by an equally bloodthirsty Cloud ( _blood and death is my Territory,_ the Cloud had declared proudly, _just as much as it is yours)_. The Cloud ( _Anan,_ he had declared himself, _Anan is what they call me)_ had taken his bloodlust, his uncontrollable, blackout rages, and moulded it into a weapon ( _burnbloodragedisintergratedestroy)_. His mentor had, unbeknownst to him, been the Cloud Officer under the Head of the Varia, Tyr, at the time, and had already notified the correct people about the little bloodthirsty demon he’d picked up ( _the bloodthirsty demon who matched the bloodthirsty Cloud and caused the mooks to tremble)_. Selaphiel was seven when he joined the Varia, Named Belphegor within moments when he eradicated the previous Storm Officer ( _ash on the wind, burned by the pretty red fire)_. Anan had laughed himself sick, the newly dubbed Belphegor joining him with the signature laugh that would haunt the lower ranks for years ( _ushishishi, peasants. Bow before the Prince of Hell)._

Then Tyr was beaten by a wild-eyed, loud teen with silver hair, who removed his left hand before fighting the Head ( _he and Anan had laughed in delight as the blood splattered the concrete in lovely patterns)_ , defeating him after two days and collapsing from blood loss ( _the sword peasant has spine,_ he’d whispered to Anan, _even if he is stupid)_. Even though the new Head of the Varia ( _rite of conquest,_ Anan told him, _the Varia does not accept weakness)_ was a Rain ( _bluesoothingcool)_ , Belphegor had no issues following the Second Sword Emperor, Squalo Superbi ( _voi, just because you’re a Prince doesn’t mean you can slack,_ Superbi had growled, _fix your division to Quality, brat, because it reflects badly on you as their Officer)._

Anan was killed by Tyr’s partner, Ottabio, two months later. It was Squalo who held him back from slaughtering the scum ( _notAnannotmymentorDIE!)_ , the new Sun officer ( _flamboyantbrightsmilesbrighthair)_ murmuring in his ear that Officers couldn’t kill other Officers (because the Sun would have burned away the Mist months ago otherwise). The filthy Cloud ( _usurpertraitorscum)_ had the nerve to strut about Headquarters as if he owned the place ( _notroyal,_ Belphegor would hiss to himself, _fakepower)_ , and it made his skin _itch_.

.

Belphegor was eight when he met his Sky. The red-eyed, hot-blooded teen who stalked in with a scowl and flames coating his hands ( _prettywrathrageangerburning)_ , incinerating the Rain Officer as Superbi declared him the new Varia Boss, Xanxus, the other teen just as quickly shoving Superbi into the now empty Rain Officer position with a mutter of ‘ _shark trash’_. Belphegor had narrowed his eyes, and stared hard at the two, noticing with an increasing sense of jealousy that the sword peasant had _Harmonized_ with their new Boss ( _notfaironlyaspareonlyaspare)_. The Lightning Officer was being sickening ( _fawningfalsewordsdespicable)_ and the Mist was being suspicious, and Belphegor still wanted the Cloud to _burn._ The Sun was cooing over the feathers in Boss’s hair ( _red for courage, passion. Red for blood, and an approaching storm)_ , and he ( _was not sulking, sword peasant, leave)_ was analysing everything he could about this new Sky ( _wrathburnfireanger)_ , when the Sky was _right there_.

“The Storm Officer, Belphegor, or Prince the Ripper.” The sword peasant introduced ( _proper manners, good manners)_. “Belphegor, this is the new Head of Varia, Xanxus Vongola.”

“Wrathful peasant.” He had greeted, giggling to himself. “Such pretty fire. The Prince approves.”

“A pleasure, Prince Belphegor.” Xanxus drawled, and Belphegor had given him a sharp smile, detecting no lie, no condescension in the teen’s words.

“ _Ushishishi,_ the wrathful peasant has manners.” Xanxus had laughed then; a low, throaty chuckle that promised Dark things, promised blood and gore and death and _revenge,_ infernos and magma and _fire._

“No one told me the Storm Officer was a vicious little thing. You’ll keep.”

A hand descended to ruffle his hair, and Belphegor was set to slice the Boss’s hand off, Sky or no, when he felt it ( _skywarmthhomebelongingprotection)_. He froze, and Boss’s hand carded through his hair, avoiding his crown ( _his birthright, his title, a reminder)_ , and Belphegor _purred (warmthwarmthsafeprotectedwarmsowarmbelonging)_ , startling a chuckle out of his Sky _._ _His Sky._

“I will not bow to you.” He had gritted out ( _I am a Prince, I do not bow to anyone)_ , before the hand went through his hair again, and he unwittingly leaned into the touch, because deep down, he was still an affection starved child ( _equaltwinwhataboutme_ , his mind would scream in his darker moments, _donotleavemeagain)._

“I would not ask you to, Prince Belphegor. Only to guard my back, and walk by my side.”

“ _Ushishishi,_ the Prince agrees to… _who told you to stop, wrathful peasant?”_

_._

He was eight when the original Mist Officer disappeared ( _there one day, gone the next,_ the mooks had gossiped, _replaced by one of the Worlds Strongest)_ , and he met Mammon, whom had Bonded with Xanxus as soon as they touched. The Arcobaleno had the office next door to Belphegor’s, and he often went in there to escape the dreariness of the peasant’s reports, the miser only charging him a glass of quality strawberry milk for the use of their couch ( _the baby was adorable,_ he would think sometimes, _even if they charge excessively)._

.

Belphegor was eight when his Sky was frozen ( _he_ was frozen, _coldcoldcoldtoocold,_ Mammon had been the one to pull him out of that cursed room), eight when the most significant person he looked up to was _gone._ Prince the Ripper immediately went on a spree of violent murders, clearing the backlog of assassinations (because his Sky wasn’t there, _homebelongingwarmthwrath_ wasn’t there), and it wasn’t until the sword peasant ( _rainbluesoothingdelugepaingrief)_ came to collect him personally once the bloodlust has cleared and he found himself in a small town halfway across the world half a year after the incident that he realized that he’d worried them all (because they lost their Sky, and they couldn’t afford to lose their Storm as well). Not that the peasants would admit it. He was paired up for every single mission after that (Mammon, mostly, and some with Lussuria, never with Levi), and the Sun, Storm, Mist and Rain grew closer ( _fakeharmony,_ he wanted to scream, but it was better than nothing).

The next mission had been deemed acceptable for him to go on his own ( _carefulcautiousbesafe,_ the Sun had implored the Storm, _comehomebequick)_ and the Rain had let him go with less complaints ( _Voidon’tmessup)_ than usual, and the Mist had merely sniffed ( _I’llchargeyouifyoudon’treturninonepiece)_ and the Lightning and Cloud didn’t know, and he was on a plane to the land of royalty. The target was pitifully easy ( _please don’t,_ the peasant begged. _The Prince knows no mercy,_ he’d replied, _only blood, death and riches)_ , and he sent the Rain a message to inform the peasants of his imminent return as he walked out of the alley, coat covering the blood on his shirt.

.

.

.

Belphegor was nine when he went missing, presumed dead (and the Rain wept, the Sun scorched and the Mist choked).

.

.

.

Belladonna Vulpecula Potter was nine when she woke up feeling as though her head had been stuffed full of cotton, a hollowness under her ribcage (it would plague her for years), and a strange disorientation at the _cupboard_ she was in ( _thepeasantsshallpayfortheslight)_ , red flashing over her vision before fading as quickly as it had appeared. There was a shrill voice screeching at her to rise, and her body obeyed instinctively. Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong ( _and she wanted out)._ The horse’s eyes were skittish, and wouldn’t look at her, and the casual abuse from the two pigs ( _notblood,_ she would hiss to herself in the dark confines of her cupboard, _notroyalty)_ and the fact they looked nothing alike made something in her on edge and wary. Something inside her felt blocked and restrained ( _cagedtrappedOUT)_ and hatred boiled beneath her skin ( _howdaretheycageme)_. She wore boys clothes because that was what she was given and they felt _right_ , she played dirty, fought dirty ( _bitescratchclawknives)_ , learned fast ( _too fast,_ her teachers said, _slow down)_ and snarled inwardly at the gaps in her memories, before intense migraines would leave her unable to function for _days (weakweakweak)._

Belladonna had memories of the cold when her relatives had locked her out of the house when she was six ( _frozencoldnumb_ ), of a bone-deep ache that plagued her during the cold months. Had scars from when Ripper ( _beastmonsterkillkillkill)_ took a bite of her ankle ( _she’d taken a bite of its ear, and it had run off)_ , from ‘Potter Poking’ and the scars on her shoulders from where the big pig had taken his belt to her back ( _oh, she was going to make him suffer when she killed him)_ , and images from various incidents in her ‘childhood’ that still filled her with hate and loathing ( _burnhatewrathragebloodspillblood)_.

.

.

.

Belladonna was eleven when she met two of the most influential people of her life; the ones who would support her, come life or death- Fay Dunbar ( _trapspanickedfalsecalm)_ , the only tolerable person in Gryffindor, and Theodore Nott ( _shadowspainquiettooquiet)_ , the quiet, unassuming Slytherin who shared her study table with Fay. They had all shared a compartment ( _traintrappednausea)_ , and kicked out anyone else who tried to disrupt the quiet. They needed no more than an exchange of names, no more than a quiet ‘ _hello’_ or a request to swap books ( _no talk of houses,_ Nott had said, _don’t ruin…this)._ They were an odd Trio, and no matter how hard some tried ( _falsesmilesshadowedeyeslieslieslies)_ no one could ever come close to separating the three ( _slimy snake,_ they’d hiss. _Foolish lions,_ she’d growl back, because Theodore was _hers)_. 

.

.

[ Theodore Nott possessed flames of the darkest green that made him Hard to see, Hard to hear and Hard to focus on; a by-product of a rather abusive childhood. His father, known simply as Nott Senior, or Sir, had murdered his mother one night after having one too many drinks and reminiscing on the ‘glory days’ of the Dark Lord Voldemort. He had shown his only son and heir the faded Mark, and told him the stories behind how he got it, boastful and proud.

Theodore hated it, hated him, hated Him, and hated the other heirs that he had to socialize with.

Then he’d shared a train compartment with Belladonna Vulpecula Potter, and his world-view had shattered and reformed into something _beautiful._ ]

.

[ Fay Dunbar had first summoned the blackish-purple fire when she had been picked up by a strange man in a lab coat. He’d locked her in the back of a van and had started to drive her away from _home_ , and she had reacted. Badly.

She had never told her parents how exactly the man had died, only that the post mortem showed that his heartrate had increased at a fatal rate. She had never told anyone about the purple fire that had saved her; it was her filthy little secret.

Then she shared a room with Belladonna Vulpecula Potter, who had the prettiest red fire that danced between her fingers, and she knew that the strange girl who had Blackness and Death hidden under Clay would be worth following. ]

.

.

Belladonna was twelve when she slayed the beast that lay beneath the school, armed with nothing but a sword and her fire, rage burning in her veins as the diary that had possessed shy Luna ( _hermoonhermistHERS)_ turned into ash at the force of her ire _._ She had not shied away from the blood and gore splattering her robes, and the peasants had quailed and recoiled in the face of her wrath ( _monster,_ they screamed, _killer)_ , and she had smiled, teeth covered in blood. ( _Yes,_ she had crooned back, _I am a spider. And you invited me into your parlour)._

.

.

[ Luna Lovegood had known about the indigo sparks that had followed her around since forever, because her mother had possessed them too. They showed her things that no one else could see, she could do things that no one else could do, and it was freedom from the dull existence that she was plagued with. She had never told her father that it had been the indigo sparks that had killed her mother when she tried to do something impossible, and that Luna had only survived by Constructing a barrier, and she had resolved to never tell anyone the truth.

Then Belladonna Vulpecula Potter had _snarled_ at a group of her housemates for bullying her, and set one of them on _fire,_ and Luna had smiled for the first time since she had arrived at this cursed place.]

.

.

Belladonna was thirteen when a convict escaped from a high security prison, supposedly the one whom had betrayed her parents ( _foolish peasants,_ she had complained to Fay, _the only good traitor is a dead one),_ and had the nerve to threaten _her_ Fay by breaking into Gryffindor tower ( _desperationguiltneed)_ and stealing something ( _the red troglodyte lost his stupid rat,_ Fay sighed, _and he’s whining about it)._ Then he was not guilty, and on the run still from werewolf hunters after eloping with that years Defence Professor ( _the Defence Professor is a werewolf,_ she had told Theo, Luna and Fay after, _but he is more akin to a puppy just coming into his teeth)_ , and Belladonna had despaired at the lack of brain cells the majority of this world possessed.

.

.

But that is not where the story truly begins.

.

Belladonna was fourteen when the Tri-Wizard Tournament was announced. The crescent moon on her side burned ( _witch mark,_ the horse had stuttered, _freak mark)_ , and she felt the sudden need to cover her eyes ( _noneshallseemyeyeesagain)_ already hidden under a thick fringe _(hiding the scar, the damn scar. Sowilo was victory, but not for her_ _)_. Behind her, at the Ravenclaw table, Luna hissed under her breath, and muttered something about a trap ( _toomanycages)_ and to be wary of bees (she hated the things anyway), and Theodore caught her eyes across the hall, and shook his head ( _trapchainsbewary)_. Fay’s absence was a gaping hole by her side ( _weakpeasantsdonotapproach)_ , and many times during the announcement she had found herself going to make derisive comments about the planning to her fellow Gryffindor, only to find her right-hand missing ( _besafebealivedonotdie)_ , and irritating peasants left in her place.

It had been the most cursed of nights, the announcement of two foreign schools arriving only mollifying her momentarily ( _escapeplantransfersafe)_ , and the thought that perhaps there would be worthwhile peasants among them to satisfy her need for intelligent conversion ( _Theo and Luna don’t count,_ she told herself, _because they’re always around, but I need something…different. A new perspective on things)._ But, there was still that sense of danger that only increased as the night went on ( _trapslaidplotsplanned)_ , and the new Defence teacher made her skin crawl in revulsion ( _fakefakefakefake)_ , and the empty feeling in her chest intensified ( _coldcoldnohomenowarmth)._

Red sparked under the table were her hands were clasped, and she took a deep breath ( _bracebracecalmcalmserene)_ , preparing to face the oncoming storm.

.

( _She’d always had the gift from divining truth from lies,_ Professor Trelawney had told them, _and she’d excelled at the art of Haruspicina. It was the Peverell blood running through her. Perhaps that was what made her leave; she had foreseen some ill-fortune that would befall her)._

.

.

.

A voice inside told her to be patient, but she just wanted the world to _burn._

.

She didn’t know how much more she could take.

.

.


	3. Slings and Arrows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune..." Hamlet, 3;1

On the fourth floor, in a classroom that was once used for the Arts, three teenagers gathered, each with varying levels of disgust written across their face.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of.” Theo eventually burst out. “An age line being the only thing that protects the bloody Goblet. What the actual….”

“Language, Theo.” Luna interrupted, the normally scatty witch staring out the window, eyes narrowed at the approaching storm clouds. “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”

“You don’t need to tell me that.” Theo grumbled. “Ever since Fay escaped, the castle has been on a tighter lockdown. My permission slip for Hogsmeade was denied by the Headmaster on the basis of ‘low grades’, and my skin feels like there’s ants crawling beneath it.” He ran a hand through ash brown hair, mussing it terribly.

“Fair is foul, foul is fair, hover through fog and filthy air.” Luna muttered.

.

“ _Enough.”_

.

Belladonna Vulpecula Potter stood from her seat in the corner, knife twirling between her fingers. Immediately, Theo and Luna snapped their attention to her. Belladonna preened a little ( _bowbeforemepeasants)_ before she gritted her teeth as the sticky feeling of stagnant magic washed over her, stifling in the way it curled around the room and clung to her skin. She hated this damn castle, with every fibre of her being, but that was nothing compared to the way Fay _loathed_ every restriction that was placed on her.

“This is undoubtedly a trap.”

“No kidding.” Theo, in the most wonderful display of pureblood aristocracy manners, sprawled out on the beaten couch they had fixed, legs kicked up on the armrest. “But the question is, for whom? Surely they won’t be as stupid as too…”

“Do not underestimate the collective stupidity of the Wizarding World, Theo. There are only a few exceptions, the most notable at this current time being yourself and Luna.”

“You do not count yourself part of our world, then?” Luna queried. Belladonna gave a derisive snort.

“The fools _wish_ I was part of their world. Weasley’s and Granger especially.”

Thunder cracked, and rain lashed against the windows, Luna smiling in a not so pleasant way.

“Those lesser often wish that they could be a part of something greater.” She conceded.

Belladonna shook her head, and joined Luna by the window, Theo moving to stand behind the Ravenclaw, as they stared out across the turbulent waters of the lake. How much more could she take, could they all take, of this rank magic saturating into their bones, of the eyes that watched their every move ( _greensilverbluebronzeredgold)_ , just waiting for them to slip up? The very act was exhausting; wearing a continuous mask during class, in her dorm, walking the halls, pretending to be their ‘Golden Girl’, tolerating the masses of peasants and spineless _worms_ who dared to speak to her. How much more could Theo take, subjected to the cruel tauntings of his housemates and his ‘father’, no rest in between, bar these quiet moments that the Trio managed to secure, far away from anyone.

( _The West side of the fourth floor is said to be haunted,_ Fred Weasley had once told her, George nodding beside him, _haunted by the ghosts of students who never made it out of Hogwarts alive)._

Belladonna knew why Theo’s permission slip was denied, and it wasn’t for the ‘low grades’ excuse that the Headmaster had spouted. It was the same reason Fay had left ( _achecoldmissingtrapped)_ , the same reason Luna was always being watched by her housemates, and the same reason her own housemates tried to curry favour and made pathetic overtures of ‘friendship’ ( _lieslieslies)_. There had been whispers, whispers that she had heard from the gossipy peasants that she shared a dorm with, from the portraits, from teachers who thought that they had secured the area (not much to secure against if you were already there), about the… _unnatural_ fire that coursed through her system, their systems. The burning hangings on her bed were all but Gryffindor legend by now, the stories from her second year when she had set Edgecombe on fire for bullying Luna, all accumulated into simple fact.

.

Belladonna Vulpecula Potter was dangerous.

.

And when most people were faced with something dangerous, something much higher on the food chain than them, they were faced with three options; flee, contain, or destroy.

.

This castle was a cage, and she wanted _out._

.

.

“How long until the other schools arrive?” She asked, lightning flashing across her vision.

“The First Task will be in November, Champions picked on Samhain.” Luna answered. “I anticipate that they will arrive end of September, or early October, to acclimatize.”

“A bad omen, for champions to be picked on that date.” Belladonna commented.

“Being in Hogwarts is a bad omen.” Theo grumbled, moving away from the window to sit at the old piano he’d meticulously tuned, coaxing a sad tune out of the worn strings as the thunder rumbled once more, the windows vibrating at the sound. Belladonna had to agree with him there, despite the brunet’s flair for being overly dramatic and pessimistic. Maybe it was something she should bring up with Professor Trelawney in her next tea-session ( _extra tutoring,_ Trelawney had told the old Headmaster, _a gift like this can easily go to waste if it isn’t cultivated)_ ; the canny Seer, whose predictions were few but no less true, knew a lot more than she let on, and who often fooled everyone with the air-headed and theatrical performance she put on. Professor Trelawney _knew_ things, unlike the majority of the pathetic peasants posing as professors.

“Do you think it will be possible to arrange a transfer to a school this late in our education?” Luna sounded hopeful (this place was Hell, and they all knew it). Theo shrugged, the song taking on a darker tone.

“Beauxbaton’s might; their Headmistress is said to be one of the best in the world, ranked after Mahōtokoro and Uagadou. Durmstrang is led by one of my father’s old…colleagues, Karkaroff, and have stricter rules on entrance and transfers. With Hogwarts current educational standards, we’d either have to attend a rather rigorous summer school, or start in the age group two years below ours.”

“You’ve done your research, Theo.” Belladonna gave him a sharp smile. _Clever peasant._ “Have you been planning this for a while, now?”

“I knew that as soon as the Headmaster announced the blasted tournament, you’d want to figure out if you could transfer or not.” Theo admitted. “Let’s face it, you’re not exactly discreet about your opinions on being here.”

Belladonna gave him a _look_ , but Theo only rolled his eyes, and stopped playing.

“Belladonna, we are your friends.” Luna spoke up. “We do notice more than others, bar Fay. Please understand, we are all trying to get out of this festering pit.”

“Especially since the esteemed Headmaster makes a point of flaring his magic during meals.” Theo shuddered. “It’s enough to put me off eating. Beauxbaton’s will be our best bet for getting out of here, and it’s practically a gateway to the rest of Magical Europe.”

“Will it be far enough away from England, though? Or will the Headmaster’s reach extend even there.” Belladonna mused. “Theo. I need you to look into the rules surrounding withdrawals from Hogwarts. If there is fine print, I want to know it.”

“Consider it done, I’ll have it for you by Friday.”

“Luna, let me know if you See anything.”

“I will.”

Belladonna nodded, and made her way towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Theo asked, scrambling to his feet. Belladonna turned, and gave him a sharp grin.

“To consult the Oracle, of course.”

.

.

Silver flashed, red spilled, and Death hovered in the air.

‘ _Trap, visitors from far away, and death.’_ Belladonna mused, headless of the blood and entrails coating her hands. ‘ _How perfectly…obvious. As if I haven’t been seeing this for months.’_ The rat on the table in front of her said nothing. Belladonna sighed. She excelled at Divination, enjoyed the rush of blood spilling it’s secrets onto the table, but…it had its drawbacks. Theo could read Runes ( _bloodchancemagic)_ , but they weren’t much clearer, and Luna could See ( _cloudyobscuredmisty)_ , but there was never anything concrete. ‘ _Trap_ ’ was obvious; the castle was a cage, and the trap had been sprung long ago to keep her here, and now it was just a matter of dodging the smaller ones, like that damn test in her first year ( _weaksimpleinsultstupid)_ , and perhaps this whole Tournament thing. ‘ _Visitors_ ’ clearly referred to the visiting schools, or perhaps this year’s Defence Professor, who proved to be as useless as the other peasants that preceded him, or maybe it meant that someone _else_ was going to visit, and that was unplanned ( _maybe someone would rescue her from this Hellhole)._

‘ _Death’_ was a little trickier; she could only hope that it meant the Headmaster, or perchance some other irritating little peasant that she despised ( _allofthemwillburn)._ She had been hoping for something different, a slight divergence from the norm in the entrails, but it seemed that those three particular messages were all she was going to see ( _rageangerirritation)_ , and they were the only three omens that she’d been seeing for the past four months ( _boredomsuspicioncages),_ even when she’d managed to sneak past the pigs and the giraffe to go rat hunting during the summer ( _toohothotroasting)_.

Haruspicy was an exact art, but…it was often unclear, and Belladonna hated it.

.

She hated everything about this damn place.

.

Red sparked, and the rat corpse in front of her disintegrated, the flames licking at the table beneath and trailing up her arms. Belladonna gave a sharp inhale as _warmth_ flooded her veins, and there was something just beyond her grasp….

Pain split her head, and she dropped to her knees as her vision went white, groaning. She tried to reach for the warmth once more ( _healingyellowgoldwarm)_ , only for the pain to increase. She resisted a scream, and settled for curling up in a ball ( _agonyhurtshurtshurts)_ , hands clutching her head as one of the most _monstrous_ migraines set in. She knew she couldn’t go to the Hospital Wing; the Nurse peasant ( _notmynurse)_ was too far deep into the Headmaster’s pocket, and they didn’t stock her medication ( _useless peasants)_ , and the giggly peasants she shared her dorm with were insufferable ( _the bushy one especially)_ , and would only tell her to go to the nurse peasant.

Belladonna found herself thinking of bright hair ( _like the street peasants that had welcomed her into their fold over summer)_ and the sun, of a golden yellow that would chase away hurts, before another wave of _agony_ invaded her skull, and she let out a broken moan before she could stop herself ( _weakweakweak)._ She could have lain there for hours in agony, or it could have been minutes, before the migraine receded, and she could see straight once more. By the light coming in through the windows, she could tell that she had missed dinner, but she wasn’t feeling particularly hungry ( _nauseatrappedtrappedpain)_.

.

“I want to go home.” The whisper dropped into the empty room with naught but the spiders and dust to hear, and Belladonna closed her eyes at the peasant-like admission.

.

She wasn’t sure that she knew where that was, anymore.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

**Omake**

Lussuria was born into the slums of Thailand to a destitute gambler and a prostitute who was desperate, and later abandoned at the foot of _Wat Acha Tong*_ , a Muay Thai monastery, where they were raised and taught their beloved art. It wasn’t until Lussuria, then named Kiet, turned twelve that the temple was attacked by a low level Triad group, and they was kidnapped, and tossed into the fight rings to make money. It was also then that they discovered a very important fact about themselves- they were a girl, stuck in a boy’s body. But treatment to fix that sort of thing wasn’t heard of by Kiet, so they suffered, and made others suffer, helped along by the golden flames that sparked and glittered beneath their skin.

Kiet planned, and plotted, and eventually managed to escape one night, dragging along a spitfire of a girl who had been sold as a sex-slave to the ring owner. The Iranian, Parisa, had led them across their homeland, remembering the routes that the slavers had taken her over and guiding them through dangerous terrain, blood red dancing through her eyes every time the Triads caught up with them, leaving no bodies left to trace. It had been a long, hard seven months, before they were dragged, kicking and screaming, to the Varia by the then Mist Officer; a slimy, officious _Lūkkhrụ̀ng**_ who, after examining them with his solitary eye, tossed Parisa towards Vongola to marry her into some Allied Familigia to pop out Flame users, and shoved Kiet towards the Sun Officer, a loud African called Nubia, who had glared at the Mist and slammed the door after dragging Kiet inside. It was Nubia who taught the ex-street-rat-ring-fighter-now-assassin how to read, plied them with books upon books of human anatomy and psychology ( _we fix up the broken,_ Nubia had explained, _and we provide the warmth to nurture growth)_ , and taught them chess and strategy and how to protect others. Nubia had taught them how to fight dirty, encouraged them to keep up with their Muay Thai, taught them languages and Flames exercises and how to shoot and how to kill a man ( _when our own are threatened,_ Nubia had panted during a spar, _we scorch all those who are against us)._

Kiet in turn told their mentor about Parisa, and how the girl had saved their life numerous times only to be shoved back into where she had fought tooth and nail to get out of. About the red fire that had burned away the Triad members who had tried to kill them, about the rings, the temple, their parents, how the Mist Officer had _betrayed them (hatehatehateDIE)_. It was then that Kiet had learned the Important Rules of the Varia: once you kill an Officer, you replace them. Kiet was a Sun, meaning he couldn’t kill the Mist. He could only hope that someone else did it for him.

Kiet was finally Named, after a long, tiresome mission during which they chased their target through three different countries before they managed to corner them and poison them. However, during the process, their eyes were severely damaged, and it took them twice as long to get back to Varia Medical, Nubia scolding them as they fixed their eyes. However, the scarring around them was unhealable and made others uncomfortable, and the deep black that their sclera had turned into, along with the glowing daffodil yellow iris’ unsettled their compatriots, so Nubia gave them glasses to hide ( _you should only show your target’s your eyes,_ he’d smirked, _then see what rumour makes of it)_ their most striking feature. The newly dubbed ‘Lussuria’ was then promoted to Sun Division’s Second, and beat anyone who dared to protest into the ground ( _constructive character building,_ Lussuria had told Tyr when they’d been called up about it, _to nurture them to their greatest potential)_.

Most of the Varia and various other clients thought that their name meant lust, referring to sexual lust. Lussuria wanted to laugh when they found out. It wasn’t for that kind of lust at all.

It was for bloodlust.

So it made more sense when the Sun decided to play things up; pretend to be attracted to corpses, creep a few people out, be overly flamboyant and be mocked and harassed for being an ‘okama’, and pretend that their name did refer to sexual lust, because it was so much easier than _hiding (darkeyeshurteyestearsofblood)_ and pretending that their eyes didn’t pain them and migraines didn’t lay them flat once they kicked in. Feather boas, bright hair, piercings, irritating nicknames; Lussuria threw themself into the role, and Nubia had only shaken his head ( _I hope you know what you’re doing,_ he’d commented, while helping Lussuria with the neon green dye. _So do I,_ Lussuria had replied) and helped Lussuria find strange outfits and develop their own style of assassination.

Then Nubia had died on a mission, and Lussuria found themselves panicking as the weight of responsibility had come crashing down upon their shoulders ( _notNubianotmymentornotmyfatherno)_ , and they weren’t sure that they could have handled it, until the new Head, Squalo Superbi, had taken them aside and doused them in enough Rain ( _calmsoothingblueserene)_ to bring them back to their senses so that they could think clearly ( _VOI! Shitty Sun, breathe, I already have to deal with hysterical Lightnings, don’t make me deal with hysterical Suns as well. Be fucking Quality!)_ , and start with a roster of who was on missions, who was assigned to what squad, who needed their vaccines. They threw themselves into their work, and healing the idiots that had gotten in the way of one of the more volatile Storms, and it wasn’t until they were holding back Prince the Ripper ( _bloodragescorchedgrief)_ that Lussuria remembered the Mist Officer that dragged them here, and they met the cool blue of the Mist, and they smiled ( _you’re next,_ a Sun had translated the smile to a Storm, _the Sun will scorch the Mist eventually)_.***

And then the bloodthirsty Sky had waltzed into their life on the arm of the adorable swordsman, and Lussuria had made a comment about the feathers ( _bloodragecautionpassion)_ , and the Sky had made a comment about the feather boa attached to the Varia jacket, and they had both Bonded ( _warmthwrathhomeskybelonging)_ over the ridiculous fashion statement the Mafia had set ( _too much suits,_ Lussuria had complained, drunk and giggly, _so sombre, so boring. At least add some colour! No, boss, red from blood doesn’t count!)_ , and a mutual desire for seeing the blood of enemies shed ( _bloodwrathragesatisfaction)_.

.

( _It was no wonder they had all Bonded to the Wrathful Sky,_ the Second in Command for Storm Division had laughed, _bloodthirsty monsters, the lot of them, and all a little psycho)._

.

Then their Sky was frozen ( _they were frozen, only the sting of a bullet drew them out of their shock)_ , and Lussuria _decimated_ all those who stood in the way of their retreat, dragging the injured Rain Officer out of the cursed room ( _VOIMYSKYLETMEGO)_ before they lost anyone else. Belphegor vanished for months, Squalo himself going to track down Prince the Ripper, and bringing back a shattered Storm ( _they were all tired, run ragged, trying to find traitors)_ who paired up with them on missions ( _I hate this,_ said the Prince to the peasant. _So do I,_ said the Sun to the Storm) sometimes, who would drop by Medical for no reason other than to share _warmth_ , the Mist Officer who would float in and discuss funding and budgets and charge minimal fees (for them, anyway) and, if the small Arcobaleno was feeling in a particularly bad mood ( _frustrationtiredsoresmierable)_ , would allow Lussuria to cuddle them for a few hours and let their Sun soothe the aches. The Rain…Lussuria won’t deny that they mothered Squalo during the months after their Sky was frozen ( _frozensmilesfrozeneyes)_ , ensuring that the now interim-Head-of-Varia ate, slept, remembered to shower, and had even taken some of the masses of paperwork off the exhausted Rain ( _coolsoothingpaindelugegrief)_ to ease the load ( _voi, why are you doing this,_ said the Rain to the Sun. _Because we share a Sky,_ answered the Sun, _because you are a Guardian, and a friend. Friends help each other)._ The Rain had even let them touch their hair ( _s’nice,_ the Rain slurred, _comforting),_ and tie it back as it got longer, adding feathers to honour Boss.

Lussuria blamed themselves when Belphegor disappeared. They had gotten so careless, and Belphegor had paid the price. If only they had paid more attention, if only they had gone with the Prince, if only, if only…

Lussuria had changed, then. There were more important things to worry about than fashion statements or freaking out people. They dyed their hair a darker green, added black feathers ( _balanceprotectioncunningdeath)_ to honour boss, and went about reminding the underworld why they were to be feared. They were Quality, the Sun Officer of the Varia.

The young things that came into their office (and sometimes, the older ones too) called them “Lussuria-nee-chan” or sometimes even ‘Onee-chan’. Older sisters could be nurturing and caring, and as the Head of Varia Medical, Lussuria strived to be so. However, older sisters could be vicious too, in protection of their own. And Lussuria would be damned before they let anything happen to their little siblings again.

.

For they were the Sun who provided warmth and nurture for things to grow, but when pushed, they were the unrelenting Sun who Scorched all who harmed their own.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *- This place exists. Liberties were taken, sorry if we offend anyone.  
> **- According to Google Translate, it’s Thai for ‘bastard’. Take it with a grain of salt, and corrections are welcome  
> ***- It was never proved who actually killed the Mist Officer that preceded Mammon. Some rumours say that the Arcobaleno drove the Mist Officer to insanity, and then the Sun Officer slaughtered them in retribution for a past slight. But, then again, those are just rumours….


	4. Let Me Be Cruel, Not Unnatural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garmarna - "Herr Mannelig"
> 
> Lucas King- "Psychopath"
> 
> .
> 
> "Let me be cruel, not unnatural...", Hamlet, William Shakespeare

“Peasants. Peasants everywhere.” Belladonna hissed, burrowing closer to Luna. She was cold ( _coldnumbfrozentoocold)_ , and standing outside with the rest of the peasants waiting for the foreign peasants to arrive wasn’t her idea of fun. In fact, it made her _incensed._ And why wouldn’t she be? She had to stand next to her _dormmates_. The stupid bushy peasant was telling anyone who listened all that she knew about the foreign schools, the giggly peasant and the chatty peasant were gossiping ( _worthlessolddated)_ , Fay’s absence a gaping hole. Thankfully, the starry professor (who was mildly tolerable) had somehow managed to get the eagle caste ( _bluewisdombronzehelmet)_ and the lion caste ( _redbloodgoldriches)_ next to each other, sending a wink Luna’s way when she ‘encouraged’ the two to stand up the back. From her vantage point, Belladonna could see her Theo boxed in by his own year mates, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere but there. He caught her gaze, and rolled his eyes, Belladonna giving him a smirk ( _the Hat said that I’d do well in Ravenclaw,_ Theo had admitted to them during second year, _but I was more concerned about what my father would do if I didn’t carry on his glorious tradition)._ If only he’d listened to the weird Hat, he wouldn’t have been in the snake pit.

“The wrackspurts seemed to have infested the majority of the teachers.” Luna muttered. Belladonna hid a smile behind her hand.

“Indeed. It must have been their influence that caused the professor peasants to make us gather outside to await our guests. Although,’ Belladonna turned to face Luna, the barest hint of concern on her face ( _hideconcealfake)_ , ‘your prediction was off. Have you been feeling well?”

“Samhain always clouds my vision.” Luna dismissed. “Which is why I cannot tell you who the champions will be, and I won’t be able to See much until mid-October at best. It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound…”

.

“Look! Above the forest!” Belladonna wanted to snarl at the peasant that shouted it right in her ears and interrupted her, but she refrained from doing so, not wanting to make a scene in front of visitors ( _politemannerscalmfalsecalm)_. Huh, a flying carriage. Pulled by winged horses. How…cliché.

“Beauxbatons.” Luna muttered, shifting closer as the wind picked up, an unnatural icy edge to it. “That’s their insignia. Also, I doubt that Durmstrang, having a reputation for martial magic, would consent to arriving in a carriage that’s so…pretty.”

Belladonna huffed, allowing the blonde to share in body heat.

“That must be them coming up through the lake, now.” She commented, eyeing the Beauxbatons contingent below, and ignoring the clamouring of the peasants trying to see the lake, and the ship that Durmstrang was travelling on.

The tall, large and sophisticated woman who was speaking with the Headmaster ( _liesfalsecunningtrickeryHATE)_ must be Madame Maxine, whom her Theo had mentioned held No. 3 in the Headmaster rankings (she wondered what Dumbledore ranked. Probably last), and the small, whippet thin man beside might have been her Deputy, Monsieur Delacroix. Their students were shivering in the cold, their light robes indicating a warmer climate than mid-Autumn Scotland. Her eyes raked the students, dismissing them as inept peasants, until her gaze landed on a tall girl, the only one smart enough to wear a cloak and a muffler, her arms around an identical blonde who was shivering. They looked similar to pass for sisters, but there was something about the older one that set her teeth on edge ( _dangerfireclawsbeak)_ , and it made her _curious_. It wasn’t until the older girl turned, and Belladonna saw her face that several things happened.

One, the Durmstrang filed off the ship and marched into the castle.

Two, it started to rain.

Three, her eyes locked with the Frenchwoman, and ( _voishittyprince)_ a headache erupted into existence.

Four, the bushy peasant grabbed her arm to drag her inside, knocking over Luna in the process, and Belladonna reacted.

.

Five: Hermione Granger got her ribs broken.

.

.

.

The Hall was not making her headache go away. In fact, it may have even gotten worse. Durmstrang sat with the snake caste ( _greenambitionsilvertongues)_ and Beauxbatons with the eagle caste, Luna managing to claim her usual place at Belladonna’s back. She hadn’t paid attention when the Goblet was brought out, and the stupid speech that went along with it, simply because she had no interest in it. Why would she risk her life for so paltry a sum, when she had gold in her vaults to spare? Useless peasants, the lot of them (except hers). Across from her (unfortunately), the bushy peasant was trying to berate her for breaking her ribs, but frankly, Belladonna didn’t care. The stupid peasant should have known not to touch her in the first place.

Dinner that night was a wide selection of foods from France and some Eastern European/Northern Asian meals, and Belladonna found herself reaching for the _solyanka_ and the _zharkoye_ while everyone else around her avoided it like the plague, the flavours making her oddly homesick and for a brief moment, she thought that she was going to cry ( _weakweakWEAK)_.

.

" _Excuse moi_ , are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"  
Belladonna eyed the girl standing next to her, the powder blue robes marking her as one of the Beauxbatons contingent, the long silvery-blonde hair reminding her of…( _VOI!SHITTYPRINCE!)._ She pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stave off the oncoming migraine, gritting her teeth when the pain washed over her. She didn’t notice the girl sitting next to her, a hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.

 _“Respire, respire... Prends ton temps. Mon dieu il y a beaucoup de bruit dans ce couloir non? Et it fait tellement froid je sais pas comment vous pouvez tous le supporter. Beauxbatons c'est au sud de la France donc il fait chaud tout le temps et on peut nager dans la mer quand on a du temps libre du moment qu'il y a un prof avec nous._ ”* _  
_Belladonna let the aimless French chatter wash over her, and she could feel some sort of magic seeping in through where the Frenchwoman was rubbing her back ( _warmthsoothingcomfortcalm),_ while her migraine vanished at a rapid rate.

“ _Merci.”_ Belladonna managed to get out after a couple of minutes, fingers pressed against her temples. Oh, she could kill…no, she _would_ kill…for her migraine medicines right now. Starting with the chatty, bushy and gossipy peasant trying to talk to the Frenchwoman next to her.

“ _It doesn’t matter, mon Cherie. I myself also suffer from migraines from time to time, although that is mostly from having to deal with pigs and bitches. I am Fleur Delacour, and you are?”_

 _“_ Belladonna Potter. _A pleasure to meet you.”_ Belladonna hid the frown that threatened to break out across her face. It was odd, that she had no memory of learning French, and yet…she could speak it fluently, and understand it just as easily. Another migraine threatened, and she quickly abandoned that train of thought, clenching her teeth ( _weakweakWEAK)_.

“ _The pleasure is mine, Miss Potter._ ” Fleur looked like she was about to say something else, when her name was called, and a mini-version of her slid into the seat beside her.

“ _Fleur! Are they done with the bouillabaisse? I want to see how good it is, and everything else on the table is fatty English food and just smelling it makes me sick! It’s so greasy and oily and gross, how do they eat it? Fleur? Fleur!”_

 _“Ma petite souer, Gabrielle.”_ Fleur introduced, a fond yet exasperated smile gracing her lips, and there was a choking sound from where the brash weasel peasant sat. Belladonna hoped that he’d swallowed something wrong and was now asphyxiating ( _rudeuncouthmessy)_. Ah, how unfortunate, the fire peasant had slapped his back, and the food had landed back onto his plate. _Damn peasants_.

“Are you alright?” Fleur directed his way. The brash weasel peasant went purple, and stared up at her, opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out except a faint gurgling noise. 

“We have finished with the bouillabaisse, if you want it.” Belladonna offered, wanting to spare her newfound acquaintance ( _not quite a peasant,_ she had told Luna, _more…lower nobility. Tolerable. A possible retainer)_ the joys of dealing with the stupid peasants that were unfortunately her yearmates.

"You 'ave finished wiz it?" Fleur pressed. “Are you sure?”  
"Yeah," The brash weasel peasant breathed. "Yeah, it was excellent.”

“ _Fleur! Can we have it yet? I’m starving!”_

_“Patience, Gabby.”_

_“Please take it and go, before the peasants forget their place and try to accost you.”_ Belladonna urged, eyeing the giggly and the gossipy peasants still trying to catch the attention of the Frenchwoman. Fleur followed her gaze, and her lips twitched into a frown.

“ _I take my leave, then. I will see you tomorrow night, Ms Potter.”_

_“Belladonna, sil vous plait.”_

_“Fleur, then. Come along, Gabby. We must sit with the rest of the school.”_

The brash weasel peasant made a movement, as if he were about to grab Fleur to keep her from leaving, a weird strangled sound ( _she wanted to strangle him for real)_ exiting his mouth, before the two silver-blondes sat back down next to Luna, their hair barely two shades apart in colour. Belladonna eyed him with increasing disgust as the brash weasel peasant (one of the litter, anyway) stared after the French beauty with his mouth open, displaying his forgotten dinner for all to see. Oh, she regretted sitting on the other side of the table from him now. _Filthy peasant._

“Shut your mouth, weasel peasant. No one wants to see your half-chewed food.”

Weasley, wisely, shut his mouth to swallow, and then went back to mooning after the French beauty.

“I’m in love. We are destined to be together for all eternity, bound by magic and our devotion to each other.”

“Rot.” The artsy peasant snapped, his mouth drawn in a tight line. “She barely looked your way. Besides, you have the manners of a pig and the attitude of a spoilt brat. She’s so far out of your league, you’d need a rocket to approach orbit.”

( _The artsy peasant is tolerable,_ she’d later told Luna and Theo, _every ruler needs a court painter, after all. And he does have a lovely sharp tongue)_.

.

.

.

“You seem troubled, Ms Potter.”

“I have reason to be, Seeress.” Belladonna took a sip of her tea, gazing at Sybil Trelawney over the rim of her cup. The Seer gave her a dazed sort of smile, although her eyes were sharp, missing very little, if nothing at all. The Divination Professor was often lauded as a fake or insane, but Belladonna knew the truth; she was genuine, and her prophecies _always_ were fulfilled, in one way or another.

“Ah, yes, the Tournament. You fear that you will be dragged into this, whether you want to or not.”

“I do.” Belladonna admitted. “The Oracle has remained unchanged for the past few months, and this concerns me.”

“Oh?” Sybil leaned forward, eyes narrow. “Not one deviation at all?”

“None.” Belladonna confirmed, and Sybil sat back, humming.

“My Sight had been cloudy as of late, as has Ms Lovegood’s. But while hers is restricted to the whims of the seasons, mine relies more on…balance. Ever since the Blood War ended, it has been obscured, as the Light Faction stepped into power. But, if we wish to go further, my sight was clearer as a child, after our…esteemed Headmaster defeated Grindlewald.”

“Because even though the Dark Faction of the time was defeated, there was still enough Darkness to balance Dumbledore out, in the form of a young Dark Lord Voldemort.”

“Correct!” Sybil beamed at her. “ _Haruspicia_ isn’t an exact art; it won’t tell you who, what, when, where in clear pictures, like Ms Lovegood, nor will it give you directions, yes, no, and have representations, like young Mr Nott’s Runemagik’s, but more…direct warnings. What have you been seeing?”

“ _Trap, visitors from far away_ and _death._ ” Belladonna sighed, sipping her tea and savouring the blend. It was far superior to the swill that was served at breakfast. Sybil hummed thoughtfully.

“And you have been seeing this since…”

“Since June. But then again, I’ve only been able to use rats; people tend to hate you if you use their pets, and Little Whinging doesn’t have strays as much as London does. The Muggle peasants already think I’m a delinquent, no need to make them think I am a psychopath as well. Perhaps the message will become clearer with a different animal.”

“Perhaps.” Sybil didn’t sound convinced, and Belladonna sighed.

“Either way, this Tournament is bad news. I dislike having so many peasants gathered in one place.”

“It’s a school, ducky. There are always going to be, ah, peasants gathered.”

Belladonna conceded her point, ignoring the term of endearment with the ease of practise.

“The foreign ones make my skin itch.” She admitted quietly. “Some of them…familiar, some of them hiding something, some fake. The Defence Professor, also.”

“Moody?”

“The peasant normally is, yes.” Sybil hid a snort, and shook her head.

“Professor Moody, ducky, although he is very moody and broody in the staffroom. I did see you speaking with Ms Delacour at dinner, what do you think of her?”

“She is…” ( _VOISHITTYPRINCE!)_ Belladonna winced, and placed her teacup down with more force than she intended, fingers going to her temples and hissing as her brain throbbed.

“Onset of migraine.” Sybil frowned, a quill and notepad hovering in the air next to her, “At the mention of Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons. Level?”

“Three.” Belladonna gritted out, “Almost a four.”

“Serious, then. And Madame Pomfrey…?”

“Still refuses to stock ‘Muggle Medicine’.”

“Tch.” Sybil frowned disapprovingly. “She should know better. If it’s prescription, it should be allowed.”

“The bushy peasant went through my bags and took it all out at the start of the year, claiming that I shouldn’t take any medicine without the express permission of the nurse peasant.”

Oh, she had come so close to killing the bushy peasant then, the girl too restricted to her own narrow worldview and ‘clean-cut’ morals, to full with righteousness and her own blind belief in authority figures. It did not give the bushy peasant the right to go through her things as though she were a commoner, and decide what medicine she was allowed to take, what electives she should choose. _Despicable peasant._ Seeing Sybil’s questioning glance, Belladonna grimaced.

“The cat professor confiscated it off the bushy peasant, didn’t recognise the name, and Vanished it, thinking that it was some new kind of drug that the Muggles were into.” Her lips twisted into a vicious grin. “The lecture the bushy peasant got about bringing such substances into this pit was _hilarious._ ”

“I can only imagine Minerva’s ire.” Sybil hid a grin.

“The bushy peasant even _cried_.” Belladonna wriggled in her seat, indulging in a little bit of schadenfreude. Most people tended to look down on that sort of thing if it was in public, but with the Seeress, away from prying eyes, she could be as vindictive as she liked. Sybil gave her a small smile, before she flicked her wand, casting a Tempus.

“It’s ten minutes to curfew, Ms Potter, you should head back to your…dorm, if you wish to avoid the patrols. Professor Doge and Filch are on tonight.”

Belladonna growled a little at the mention of the Potions Professor and the caretaker, for sighing, and draining her tea (it was an excellent blend), collecting her bag as she placed the teacup back on its saucer.

“Thank you for the tea, Seeress. I will see you on Friday for Divination.” Sybil waved her away, gaze a little distant, but Belladonna didn’t hold it against her. She often had trouble concentrating when her own gift acted up as well ( _fireredstormdisintergrate)_.

“Belladonna.” Sybil called, just as she got to the trap door. Belladonna paused, and looked back, meeting the Seeress’ eyes.

“Yes?”

“The champions will be selected on Samhain, tomorrow night. Be cautious. Something foul is afoot.”

“This is Hell, Sybil.” Belladonna replied, lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. “Something foul is always afoot.”

She shut the trapdoor behind her, the Seeress not refuting her words.

.

After all, most of the time, it was her being the ‘something foul’.

.

.

.

.

**Omake: Mammon.**

.

Before she was Mammon, the Mist Officer of the Varia and Mist Guardian to Xanxus, before she was Viper, the Strongest Mist and Esper, the Arcobaleno, before she was known as the World’s Greatest Information Broker, she was Ekaterina Nadia Yaxley, the firstborn daughter of the Noble House of Yaxley, and one of the most sought after heiress’ in pureblood society. Her mother was absent during her life, always busy with her younger brothers, who were Heir and Heir Apparent. She associated with the likes of Dorea and Cassiopeia Black, Sylvana Malfoy and the canny Minerva McLachlan, up until her eleventh birthday, when that cursed letter never came, and she was disowned for the most unforgivable sin of all: being a Squib.

It had been Cassiopeia and Dorea to get her out of the hellhole that she had once called home, Minerva to squirrel her away to Cawdor to live with some relatives, and Sylvana to permanently charm her hair and eyes her favourite shade of pale lavender. She was unrecognizable as the disgraced heiress of House Yaxley, and with the anonymity that came with the new look, Ekaterina immersed herself into the fresh start she had been gifted, learning things that had been deemed unacceptable for an heiress ( _for a woman,_ had been left unsaid, but it was there), and being _useful._ The next four years passed in idyllic peace in the sleepy town (with a bloody history), and Ekaterina was content.

_._

Until the bombs came.

.

She had woken up that morning in a cold sweat, not recalling what her dream was about, nor why it had sent her into such fits of anxiety at the thought of it. It wasn’t until she screamed at the sight of the fireplace at her job at the seamstress’ ( _the heiress working? Ruined hands and a commoners job)_ , the sudden image of the village going up in flames, bodies lying scattered in the street, and her friend from the bakers, Erin, screaming over the body of her beau, that she remembered the Olde Familie Magiks of the Yaxley Clan; pyromancy, seeing the future in the flames ( _burnburningbrightflashes)_.

Oh, how she had laughed, at the fact that her younger brothers could only see fire, while she saw _endless possibilities_ , as she stole the Familie Magik away from House Yaxley (it would die with her, she had vowed, House Yaxley would never wield it again).

.

Minerva’s mother, who taught the village children how to read and write, had immediately summoned her daughter home for the winter break, Minerva bringing along a new addition to their little coven ( _protectionwarmthsafetygrowth)_ , Poppy Feehan. Ekaterina learnt, as the Nazi planes droned overhead and dropped their cargo, that she did have magic, just not the traditional wand-waving kind.

She possessed Wilde Magik, as old as the Earth itself, tied to the elements and the whims of nature, the heartbeat of Terra pulsing through her body, the breath of Nuada filling her lungs, and the Morrigan screaming her vengeance in her ears. Wilde Magik that bound herself, Minerva and Poppy into a Triad, Magik that arched at their direction to cover the village ( _glowingdomegoldenshield)_ , spear the bombs before they hit the ground, covered every villager in a golden light, and made them _hers_ ( _the druidess protects us,_ the villagers would say to the Ministry flunkies, _she is blessed by the Earth Mother)._

It was after Dumbledore finally got his ass around to defeating Grindlewald that the Ministry came after her, citing that she was a menace to society, a danger to their way of life, and that because of her little ‘Triad’ stunt, she had earned herself a one-way ticket to Azkaban. Ekaterina, scribbling a quick goodbye and a thank you to everyone and leaving it on the counter at her old job ( _barely seventeen, and all alone in the world,_ her old boss had worried, _please child, be safe)_ , joined the newly widowed Sylvana Malfoy (now Burke, but she was quick to drop that name) on her way to France, her Magik ( _untameduncontrolablefree)_ reaching out and ensnaring the silver-blonde into her little coven and wrapping comforting tendrils around the pregnant witch (Sylvana was surprised when she told her, she clearly didn’t know), and, unknowing to her, claiming Sylvana’s unborn child as hers in Magik and in blood.

The two settled at the long-abandoned Malfoy estate near Le Dramont (interestingly, the Black Estate wasn’t far away, in Grimaud, and Cassiopeia visited often, Dorea now married to Charlus Potter), and it is here that they stay, far away from the reaches of the British Ministry, and they assisted the French Ministry in taking in orphaned wizarding children who have nowhere to go after war ripped their country apart ( _homelesshopelesshelpless)_ , and accidentally starting the first boarding house for Beauxbatons. It was Ekaterina who taught them how to sew, how to cook and clean by hand and manage money, while Sylvana taught them useful little charms and spells that would help them in the long run (they weren’t at war, but only a fool doesn’t prepare for one).

It was during one of their outings to the nearby town ( _blend in or break the Statute,_ she’d hissed at the older ones, _I don’t care that you hate Muggles, you_ will _learn)_ that Sylvana Malfoy and Ekaterina Yaxley would meet their future husband and gateway into the world of information brokering, respectively.

.

Alveré Superbi was a giant of a man, with silver locks (not silver-blonde, like Sylvana’s, but close), bright blue eyes and a loud, boisterous laugh that was infectious. He was also the member of the notorious Superbi Familiga, and one of the best information brokers in the world. Nothing sneezed in France, be it man or beast, without him knowing. It wasn’t coincidence, nor indeed fate, that brought him to the coastal town of Le Dramont, but rather the gossip from one of his informers about two foreigners taking up residence in a supposedly abandoned estate; one heavily pregnant, and the other sporting a strange hair colour.

It _was_ , however, a fluke that he had walked past the group just as a particularly loud group of ‘vagabonds’ who decided that the eight-months-pregnant Malfoy was a prime target for a gang beating (they were the scions of multiple mafia familiga’s whose hands were stained with the blood of innocents), if the lavender-haired woman (and that was indeed a strange hair colour) had not stepped in front and taken the full force of the intended punch straight to her cheek.

She did not flinch. She did not cry out.

The children, the fellow street-goers, the shop-keepers, and even Alveré himself had frozen, as the woman had turned her gaze upon the offender, the cries of ‘whore’ and ‘slut’ dying away into silence as she raised a finger and pointed to her attacker. He took a step back. Alveré took one forward, intent on stopping whatever retribution the woman was about to rain down upon the vagabond, only to pause at the words that exited her mouth.

“ _May your family line be barren, let your bloodline end with you. So I have judged, so mote it be_.”

Indigo smoke curled out from her finger and coiled around the man, his screams choking off as it wrapped around his throat, the woman standing tall and regal with the bearing of nobility. Alveré felt the sudden urge to curse, until he caught sight of the lavender-ette’s face. _Surprise._ She was staring at the indigo smoke with something akin to fascination, and Alveré, with his contacts in Italy, knew exactly what it was. _Mist Flames. Civilian._ And very, very interesting. He would have approached her, to talk to her about her newfound place in society (she would most likely end up married to a minor Familiga member), had the blonde friend not suddenly cried out, and instantly, every woman on the street hustled the two away, the children led back to wherever they came from by the older ones. Alveré sighed. He hated making house calls.

.

Ekaterina held the giggling, silver-blond, lavender-eyed Colette Catarina Malfoy, and watched as Sylvana Malfoy became Sylvana Superbi, Alveré Superbi having fallen hard and fast for the pureblooded witch within the first few months of meeting. Ekaterina was set to take over the network from Alveré, the man retiring of sorts to help raise a family and manage their estate. She had taken to the brokering like a duck to water, and within months expanded the network ( _women hear more than men think they do,_ she had giggled to Sylvana and Cassiopeia, three vodka’s over her limit and sipping on a fourth, _it’s not so much as finding informants than asking their partners, wives, girlfriends and sisters for gossip)_. Her twenty-first birthday passed with little fanfare, although Cassiopeia did somehow manage to get her a highly illegal snake that she was pretty wasn’t allowed in France and twenty other countries, but it curled around her like a poisonous choker, and hissed terrible jokes in her ear, and it could _fly_. Well, hover, but it was still off the ground. It was the snake that gave her the nickname of ‘Viper’, and she found that she didn’t mind the added anonymity. Toss in a standard wizard travelling cloak and some mist ( _It’s not Flames,_ she argued with Alveré, _it’s real mist, created by super freezing the air, and then heating it slowly)_ , add some strange tribal tattoos courtesy of Sylvana’s exceptional Charm work ( _you look like a convict,_ Dorea giggled on a rare visit over, _but a very…purple and adorable convict)_ , and she had a foolproof disguise that she could use whenever she met with her informants, instead of the usual dark, shadowy rooms that caused her eyes to ache.

.

Then word reached her of a possible magical creature in the hands of Muggles, and experimentation on said creature, and she saw red, Morrigan whispering her sweet words of vengeance and riling her up further. Her informant showed her the warehouse where the experimentation was taking place, and she barged in, Flames roiling, Magik coiling.

.

It was a trap.

A trap set for ‘The Strongest Esper’ (the fools thought her magic was ESP, and if she made up some weird backstory while drunk with Cassiopeia that they believed, she wasn’t going to correct them), and at the end waited the weak head of some stupid Familigia, barring one simple fact; he was a Sky. Weak, but still a Sky. And he tried to force a Guardian bond.

She almost died, if not for her Mist Flames swamping the area and altering reality, Constructing a scenario that suited her needs best, as she wiped out the Tainted Sky and his top tier members.

She killed the man who had given her the false information, and sent a message to the rest of her network.

 _Incompetence is not tolerated. Misinformation will get you killed_.

.

She went to sleep as Ekaterina, and awoke as Viper, the Information Broker. Ruthless, cunning and so very, very secretive. She wouldn’t let a mistake like that happen again.

.

.

Then she accepted the offer from the man called Checkerface, and she was cursed. She had screamed and cried and raged in the privacy of the basement in the Malfoy-Superbi estate, thrown her magic about until her body protested ( _weakweakWEAK)_ and she collapsed to the floor ( _bodytoosmalltooweak)_ , and she returned to Ekaterina for the barest moment as she cried.

She was twenty-two when her body was forced into that of a toddler, twenty-two when the cursed pacifier was placed around her neck.

For decades, she was forced to watch as life moved on around her. Was forced to watch from the side-lines as all the children she helped raise grew up and married and had children (she was a grandmother dozens of times over, that was a scary thought), watched as Colette married a Hideaki Gesso and gave birth to the very adorable Byakuran ( _exactclonemale)_ , watched as little Apolline married Francois Delacour, and brave, loud Serafino married an equally fiery and loud Italian woman named Marina. She was called Aunt, _Tante, Zia, Eka-obaa-chan,_ Ekaterina, Viper, Broker, Miser…all just titles, names, and endearments.

Dorea died, the connection that linked her to the coven snapped like dry spaghetti, Cassiopeia rushing over to the estate in hysterics as she declared that her sister was dead, and that there was a madman rampaging over Britain. She allowed Cassiopeia to hold her tight as the letters arrived, some promises of power if she joined the Dark, others begging from the Light, and finally, the black edged scroll that notified her of the death of family members, one by one. There was silence from the few other contacts she had in England, and she vowed to herself, as Cassiopeia cried herself to sleep, and Sylvana wept over the death of her brother Abraxas, that she would never let any of her coven be hurt again.

It was after the war ended, and the Dark Lord was dead, that she began to feel restless, the Mist inside starting to long for a Sky to shelter. Logically, Viper knew that she didn’t need one, that she probably wouldn’t find one that would be able to encompass her (Luce’s betrayal was still the Sword of Damocles that hovered over her heart), but…she couldn’t stay hidden forever, not when her net of informants were expanding, and too soon, people would notice where they came to give personal reports. It was one of her Italians that mentioned something interesting, regarding the Sword Emperor Tyr, and some young upstart defeating him and becoming Head of the Varia, Independent Assassination Squad of the Vongola ( _I haven’t tried assassinations, yet,_ she’d explained to a bemused Cassiopeia, _and you know the ins and outs of most of my network, so I could leave it to you. You always told me to try out new things.)_

 _(I didn’t mean try your hand at killing people for cash,_ Cassiopeia had laughed, Black Madness creeping into her voice, _I meant things like bridge, card games, maybe even a Muggle sport, but let me know how it goes)._

.

She went to sleep Viper, and woke up Mammon, the Varia Mist Officer.

.

Well, kind of. It was laughingly easy to get rid of the previous one.

.

It was the Year 31 of her curse, when she met the bloodthirsty, canny Sky ( _her Sky)_ that reminded her so much of Minerva that her heart ached (the Scottish witch now teaching at Hogwarts, but _alive_ ), if not a little more bloodthirsty. It said volumes about herself that she found that disposing of the previous Mist Officer was easy, and that the only reason she did it was because she was bored. Then she had brushed against the Sky as she introduced herself as his new Mist Officer, and something snapped into place ( _warmthbelongingwrathprotection)._ But, with that came knowledge, and her magic, ever delicate and erratic did something strange.

Xanxus was now a part of her coven.

_Shit._

.

She met the rest of the Officers minutes later, the bloodthirsty little Storm Prince making her coo inwardly (maternal instincts supressed as rapidly as they appeared, but she did continue to have a soft spot for the pintsized monster), Lussuria bright and flamboyant and oh so precious, Levi the idiot ( _creepfalsedanger)_ , Ottabio the sly ( _slimygreasyick)_ and…oh. _Oh._ The _Rain._

Oh, but she recognised those eyes ( _silvereyesMalfoyeyes)_ , recognised the arrogant tilt of the chin, the cheekbones, the fire inside, the _loudness_. She was, however, not suicidal enough to mention to Squalo Superbi that he favoured his grandmother.

.

Especially once he began to grow his hair long.

.

.

It was Year 33 of her curse, and her Sky was frozen ( _she was frozen, until she saw the flames headed for a shocked Belphegor, and she dragged him out of that cursed room)_. Belphegor disappeared, Squalo shut down, Lussuria tried to keep them all together, Levi and Ottabio were useless scum as usual, and Mammon was stuck with the fall out (because Varia Accounting was _useless_. All that gold gone to waste…), and trying to get her Division out of the standard Mafia mind-set regarding Mists and into something more _healthy_ ( _Mists_ can _be sneaky, devious and treacherous,_ she had snapped at her Division, frustrated, _but that doesn’t mean we_ have _to be. We_ can _Construct illusions, but we_ should _not be limited to such paltry guidelines for the common masses, because we are_ Quality _)._ Squalo left, eyes tired, shoulders slumped ( _tootiredoverworked)_ and brought back the wayward Prince, the mite clinging close to the Rain, eyes wide and looking lost. Mammon had allowed herself to be used as a pillow for the first few nights after that ( _the Mist will hide the Storm, for now, until the Storm is ready,_ she had soothed), Prince the Ripper drifting into her office more often as the days went past, herself only being bothered enough to keep up appearances by sending Belphegor to collect her weakness of strawberry milk ( _it’s unhealthy,_ Sylvana chastised her. _It’s either that or I kill mooks,_ she snapped from her nest of blankets and cushions). Occasionally, she would drift down to Varia Medical to visit Lussuria ( _warmsoothingbright)_ when she had over-exerted herself trying to get around Varia Mansion, or her Division were being particularly stupid, and let the ‘okama’ alleviate whatever had pained her throughout the day ( _Mammon, darling, you need to take a break, or you’ll burn out at this rate,_ said the Sun to the Mist. _I can’t afford to take a break, not now,_ the Mist sighed). She also kept tabs on the traitor Ottabio ( _slyslimyscum)_ , knowing that she couldn’t kill the asshole, but she _could_ restrict his movements, and have eyes on him at all times, and made sure that Levi didn’t kill any of his subordinates for _competence_ (Mist, Rain and Sun Division had a sudden influx of ‘new recruits’), make sure that he didn’t kill any of _hers_ (no one was crazy enough to enter Storm Division, not when they had the highest ‘dropout’ rate).

.

Then Belphegor went missing, presumed dead, and Mammon not so subtly lost her mind with worry. She had her informants in every country have their eyes peeled for the missing Prince, the ones in England doubly so. Cassiopeia herself went to the last known co-ordinates, but only managed to pick up the actual murder ( _he completed the hit,_ Cassiopeia said over tea, _there were a few stray wires left in the alley coated in the targets blood. Then…nothing. Nothing I could sense)_ , and Sylvana and Alveré forced her back to the estate one weekend to _rest,_ but she couldn’t, not until she found the little monster whose soul had resonated with hers.

Then the pains had come.

Her body hadn’t adjusted well to being shrunk down into toddlerhood, and her Magik had roiled and protested initially, but eventually settled a couple of years after. Now…the Wilde Magik that had swirled and danced within her had started to try to actively fight the Curse, leaving her bedridden with pain some days (she thanked every deity she could think of for Mist clones and glamours), Sylvana and Cassiopeia, even Apolline and Francois trying to find the reason for the sudden attacks ( _burningpainagony)_ , Cassiopeia finally finding an obscure reference in the Black Family Library.

Her Magik was rebelling against the Curse, because her body was no longer big enough to contain both her Flames, and her Magik. Cassiopeia estimated that Mammon had about twenty years left, max. Less if the Curse drained too much Flame.

.

It was too much.

.

.

When she woke up, she was cuddled up with Lussuria and Squalo ( _nostormnoragenolittlemonster)_ , the Rain ( _delugesorrowgriefdrowning)_ clutching her to his chest tightly, as if he were afraid that she’d disappear as well ( _voi, I…can’t lose any more,_ he had admitted quietly, in the secrecy of Mammon’s private quarters, _Boss, Belphegor…_ we _cannot afford to go missing as well. Boss, when he comes back, will need us here, as will Belphegor._ Mammon knew that the Rain was not even entertaining the thought of ‘ _if they come back’)_ , the normally cheerful Sun warming both with an arm draped across both of them, snoring softly.

Mammon closed her eyes, and vowed to herself that she would not let this go, would not disappear.

.

For she was the Mist that obscured the Elements from their enemies and hide the truth behind twisted words, but she would also be the Mist that smothered their enemies.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter, massive Omake, but it is so worth it for Mammon, because Mammon is awesome and doesn’t get enough page time.  
> Translations done by the amazingly beautiful char.char, who I now owe a favour to (eek).  
> As usual, please review my unbeta-ed crap, and let me know what you think.  
> .  
> .  
> Translation below.  
> .  
> .  
> *- “Breathe, breathe.. Take your time. God, this hall is loud, isn’t it? And it’s so cold, I don’t know how you all can stand it. Beauxbatons is in the south of France, so it’s very warm a lot of the time, and we can swim in the ocean whenever we have free time, provided a teacher is with us."


	5. King of Shreds and Patches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...King of shreds and patches..." - Hamlet, William Shakespeare
> 
> .
> 
> "Deep Ambient Mix"- Cryo Chamber (they have some great stuff!)

.

Xanxus is sixteen when he’s frozen, and he’s sixteen still when he wakes up, and for a moment he thinks that it had only been a few days, maybe a few weeks, if not for the tired, harried expression on his Rain’s face that spoke of years of stress, the fact that his Sun had a vastly different look, and his Mist…his Mist hadn’t changed all that much, now that he thought about it. Squalo’s hair was longer as well, much longer ( _shallnotcutuntilyouareDecimo)_ , and clearly Lussuria had braided it, adding in blue feathers ( _communicationsinceritytrust)_ near the base, the Sun’s own hair longer and a dark pine green, containing, oddly enough, black feathers ( _balanceprotectioncunning)_. They had all been talking in tense, hushed whispers, and the room they were in looked like Varia Medical, but that didn’t make sense, because Lussuria had only just been interned to the Varia Doctor last week.

“… _can’t let anyone else know…”_

_“….too many moles in Varia, Mammon, find out who and see if we can get rid of some…”_

_“…vitals are fine, but the scarring was beyond me…”_

“ _…Ottabio will be an issue….”_

_“….no other Clouds will step up, not skilled enough to…”_

_“…could, but in his current condition I don’t think…”_

“ _…that Nono doesn’t find out before…”_

Now that he thought about it, he did recognise this as the Sun Officer’s office, but it was missing a few…things that had been in here last time he’d dared to venture in. Most notable was the lack of bodies, although the obnoxious colours were muted, and he could see several Varia uniforms in an open cupboard without the feather boa, almost as if…

_They’d been in mourning._

Had he died and been revived? Why wasn’t Federico or even Enrico here? Why did his skin hurt so much and why did everyone look so old? There was a voice at the back of his mind screaming that he sounded like pathetic trash, but nothing, nothing made sense anymore. He clenched his fist ( _weakweakWEAK)_ , and opened his mouth to speak, swallowing a couple of times when his voice didn’t work the first few times, before a cracked and hoarse voice emerged from his lips.

“Lussuria. Squalo. Mammon.” Silence fell, and as one, the Sun, Rain and Mist turned to face their Sky. Xanxus tried to sit up, only to groan as his atrophied muscles protested, and instantly, Lussuria was there, hands glowing with Sun Flames ( _new trick)_ and warmth was spreading through his body, driving the bone deep chill away ( _coldcoldtoocoldfrozen)_.

“Take it easy, Boss. We only managed to defrost you completely last week; the entire process took about three months.”

Three months. Three months to break down Zero Point Breakthrough, between the four of his Guardians and his brother…adopted brother. There was a slight pang of betrayal, but he pushed it away to deal with later. Speaking with Federico might help in that instance.

“How…long?”

“Voi, boss, don’t strain yourself…”

“ _Squalo._ ”

“Six years.” Mammon replied, not offering the customary fee, for once. “Federico helped us plan to get you out, provided a distraction, and is keeping everyone’s eyes on him.”

“Enrico?”

“Dead.” Lussuria answered, not unkindly, and moved their hands to his shoulders, frowning a little. “Body was found with weights tied to his feet and thrown in a river. Massimo got himself shot in a stupid fight with an even stupider familiga.”

There was an ache, settling in his chest that had nothing to do with the stupid ice, and he didn’t want to ask the question, but…

“Who else?”

“Ottava died four months ago.” Squalo moved to stand beside him, adding Rain ( _soothingcalmgriefpain)_ to Lussuria’s Sun, voice too quiet for the normally loudmouthed swordsman. “Federico decided enough was enough when Nono didn’t defrost you for the funeral.”

No.

_No._

_Not Nonna_.

He didn’t realize that he was crying until Mammon, notoriously-known-for-not-liking-physical-contact-Mammon, had jumped from their perch into his lap, and wrapped their tiny toddler arms around his neck.

“Mou, I’ll charge you for this later, Boss.”

Xanxus wrapped his arms around the little Mist _(too weak to worry about crushing them)_ and tried not to cry too much on his Mist Guardian, Rain and Sun Flames coursing through his system (and when did Lussuria and Squalo become this in sync?) soothing most of the aches, before Lussuria swore, and reached out to tilt his chin up.

“I need to check your left eye, Boss.” Lussuria explained when he tried to move away. “There was some damage done to your optic nerve, but thankfully, you won’t end up with eyes like mine.” There was a teasing tone, and Xanxus felt his lips tilt into a small smile at his Sun Guardian (he would be mortified later at the display of sentiment, but his Guardians would just tell him it was shock setting in), and let the Thai Sun shine irritating lights and diffuse flames into his skin just below his eye ( _itchywarmstingclarity)_ , and dealt with the invasion of _personal space_.

“You might need a few corrections later on.” Lussuria mused. “But not until you’re at least thirty…ah, physical age, that is. Technically you’re twenty-two.”

“Oh joy.” Xanxus deadpanned, feeling a strange sort of lightness. “I can legally drink alcohol.”

Squalo snorted, and Lussuria broke into giggles, while Mammon sighed.

“I see your sense of humour remains unchanged, Boss.”

Xanxus almost started crying again, caught himself tearing up, and resigned himself to the fact that six years on ice had clearly mangled his emotional control.

“Oh, and Boss, no Flame exercises for at least a week.” Lussuria added, now eyeing some charts next to his bed. “Your Flames are still re-centring from the…shock, then the extensive use during the not-a-coup, and finally the damn Zero Point Breakthrough.” The Thai Sun broke off into foul muttering in several languages that Xanxus didn’t recognise, although he did catch a couple of Arabic and some Chinese in there, and a few suggestions as to what Nono could do to _himself_ with the ‘ice coffin’.

“Not even to roast irritants?” He found himself asking. Lussuria shot him a look that reminded him of Nonna ( _gonegreifgonegone)_ , and he rubbed his eyes, now itchy and red and drooping with exhaustion. Sleep sounded very good right about now, maybe Bel…he snapped back to attention, doing a careful head count of his Guardians, before scanning the room, frowning when he realized what was missing.

.

“Oi, Flame trash.”

As one, the three Guardians turned back to look at their Sky.

Their Sky, who looked so very confused ( _soyoungtooyoung),_ and was looking around the Sun Office, as if looking for someone, but they didn’t know…

“Where’s the prince trash?”

.

_Oh._

_._

_._

.

Xanxus narrowed his eyes at Lussuria, knowing that the Sun would be the first to crack under his glare (Lussuria didn’t want to coo, but their Boss just looked like an angry kitten at the moment).

“Sun trash. Where is Belphegor?”

“Boss…” Lussuria trailed off, their face twisting into a strange expression. They turned away and fiddled with a roll of bandages, wanting to hide the…oh. Lussuria was trying not to _cry._

“Bel is…”

“Missing in Action.” Squalo broke in, the Sun sending his Rain a grateful look. Xanxus also caught the slight brush of hands, and the pulse of Tranquillity Squalo sent to Lussuria. _Interesting._ That had been well-practised, and familiar, considering that it had been discreet and almost too quick to catch, if he hadn’t already been paying close attention to the Sun in the first place. Then Squalo’s words registered, and something in his chest tightened almost unbearably.

He immediately checked all of his bonds; the searing heat of his Sun, the soothing deluge of his Rain, the comforting blanket of his Mist, and finally, where the violent tempest of his Storm should have been….nothing. But, there were not the shattered threads where the remains of a bond were ( _he had harmonised with a Lightning, once. Being the stereotypical mafia Lightning, the stubborn fool had gotten himself killed a few weeks later, and the remnants of the bond were still floating around like glass shards in his head)_ , just…blank space.

.

“He’s alive?” He didn’t sound so sure, but no shards of bond, yet no bond either. Belphegor _could_ be alive, despite most evidence pointing to the contrary. He caught the pained glances between Squalo and Lussuria ( _again, those two were scarily in sync. How would he get the story out of them?)_ , before Squalo began to speak, cautious.

.

“Voi, Boss, we all hope so, but…”

“It’s blocked.” Xanxus gritted out. “Not broken. I would know.” _So would you,_ went unsaid. “What happened?”

“He went missing about a year after you were frozen.” Lussuria explained. “A mission in England had been completed, and he let Squalo know that he was coming back, and then, he was gone. We swept the area several times, but…he just vanished. There were no killing spree’s, no violent murders, just silence.”

“We eliminated the copycats that sprang up.” Squalo snarled, and twitching towards his sword. “Shitty scum.”

“Mou, wouldn’t have even been worth our time in the first place.” Mammon hummed. “We haven’t filled the Storm Officer position, simply because there was no body, or confirmation of his death. Belphegor’s second, Yosei, has been filling in and keeping them in line, but they’re not Officer Material.”

Xanxus cast his mind back to the personal in Storm, but…

“Yosei?”

“Joined and promoted six months after you were frozen.” Squalo explained, withdrawing his Rain a little. “Managed to keep Belphegor on his toes, files paperwork on time and manages the ‘request’ board. Lussuria recruited them.”

Female, then; Lussuria had always had a talent for finding women who were better suited to Varia than whatever life the Mafia had forced them into. But, due to the Varia’s long-standing tradition of ‘no women’, they were often listed as ‘undisclosed’ on their files. It was odd, however, that Lussuria had picked up one so soon after his freezing, and that they had been promoted to Storm SIC so quickly. Lussuria must have caught his questioning gaze, and shuffled a bit.

“Yosei…had already proved themselves to me. The only thing needed to get them up to Quality was physical fitness, and Belphegor enjoyed the thought of, and I quote, ‘ _a secretary peasant to keep me from dealing with the stupid peasants’_.”

“Lazy little brat.” Xanxus snorted, his vision swimming a little and dark spots starting to appear out of the corner of his eyes. Lussuria eyed him critically, and then pushed him back against the pillows.

“That will do for now, Boss, you are still healing, and you’ve barely been out of ice for a week. We will give you our individual reports when you next wake up.”

“Want to talk to Yosei. If trustworthy.” He managed to get out. Squalo nodded.

“Voi, I’ll tell them. Yosei knows how to keep their mouth shut, and they _have_ taken control of Storm. Lightning and Cloud, however…”

“Janus from Mist can update on Lightning.” Mammon said. “He just…transferred.”

“I’m sure Rai from Storm wouldn’t mind discussing the failures of his previous Officer in Cloud.” Lussuria chirped, their mouth taking on a sinister slant. “Not quite Quality, however, but getting there.”

“Ottabio…?”

“Still Officer.” Squalo growled. “No Clouds good enough currently; he kept them all at ta level far below his, and didn’t bother training them up in case they got any ideas about replacing him.”

“Trash should…” Xanxus broke off into a yawn, and Lussuria draped a blanket over him.

“Sleep, Boss, we’ll sort it for you. I’ll take first watch.” The Sun soothed, and Xanxus found himself drifting into black, and warmth from the Sun sank into his bones.

.

.


	6. And My Imaginations are as Foul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "…and my imaginations are as foul…" Hamlet, William Shakespeare
> 
> .
> 
> "Empty", Lucas King

Belladonna let loose a frustrated yell as the knife thunked into the doorframe, part of an intestine oozing off the steel to drop into the floor ( _dangerdangerdanger)_. She needed out, she needed to get out _now_ , just run and run and never look back and….

“Is now a bad time?”

Another knife sunk next to the first, a few strands of ash brown fluttering to the floor, the owner of the hair having narrowly avoided the knife.

“Theo.” Belladonna took a deep breath, attempting to quell her rapidly rising temper ( _Evanstemper,_ they muttered in the halls, _Blackmadness)_ before she killed her Theo. “Please tell me you have some good news.”

“Professor Doge overindulged in wine last night and is currently suffering in the Hospital Wing.” Theo supplied, slipping into the room and closing the door behind him. “Granger has a months’ worth of detentions for ‘possession of illicit substances’. Weasley has come down with some weird illness that makes him vomit beetles on the hour precisely, and Parkinson has had her betrothal contract with the Malfoy’s rejected on the basis of ‘damaged goods’. Draco didn’t like her anyway.”

Belladonna smiled ( _bloodteethsatisfaction)_ and leaned against the table, blood soaking into her sleeve.

“How unfortunate.” She purred, Theo returning her smile with one of his own. “My condolences to Parkinson and Granger.” Her tone implying anything but. “Where is our Luna?”

“Professor Sinistra wanted to speak to her about something. If you would like, I can find out?”

“No need.” Belladonna dismissed with an elegant wave of her hand. “The starry professor is one of the tolerable ones. At the very most, it will be about Luna’s currently abysmal grades in Potions, since Morrigan knows that Professor Flitwick is overworked and doesn’t have time for all of his students.”

“Hence why Professor Sinistra is now talking with most of Luna’s year and below.” Theo nodded in understanding. “She does a good job, even if she cannot police the Ravenclaws as effectively due to her not being a Head of House.”

“She makes things easier for our Luna.” Belladonna stared at her sleeve as the pervading feeling of wetness ensued. The white material of her school blouse was now a deep, dark red, and she scowled. Housekeeping were going to be annoyed at her; this was the second blouse she’d destroyed this week.

“What do the portents say?” Theo inquired, slumping down into the armchair that was claimed as his. Instantly, Belladonna’s ire returned, and she picked up another knife to throw at the door.

“The same bloody thing they’ve been saying for the past few months!” She hissed, the knife slamming into the woodwork. “Not a single deviation! Not one! And now that the ‘visitors from far away’ have appeared, I was hoping for a variation in the usual message, but _NO!_ ” The shout was punctuated with the slamming of another knife (oh, how she loved that her magic could multiply things. No more running out of ink and weaponry!) into the body of a very dead rooster, the corpse bursting into blood red flames and disintegrating within an instant.

“I even tried a different animal.” Belladonna griped. “A different incantation, a different starting point of the sacrifice. Still. No. Bloody. Change.”

“I can…” Theo began, a little hesitant, “ask the Runes for guidance? Perhaps a few things will become clearer after Samhain; Luna’s Sight should be cleared in about a week.”

“No, Theo.” Belladonna shook her head. “I am aware of how taxing it is, and on a night like tonight, we’ll need every scrap of magic. The warnings for ‘danger’ have been louder than before.”

“Portents or intuition?” Theo asked, sitting up straight. “Because your intuition can be very scary in its accuracy.”

“Intuition.” She sighed, and Theo cursed, leaping up from his chair and starting to pace. Belladonna flicked her wand, and the mess on the altar disappeared, along with the smell of burnt chicken. Her eyebrow rose when Theo stopped suddenly, and glared at the door, before stalking over to it and slamming it open, a twin pair of yelps sounding from outside.

“ _Scram._ ” He snarled, and Belladonna caught a flash of red and gold and ginger hair, before the footsteps thundered down the hall, before Theo slammed it shut and turned back to her, eyes glowing an odd green.

“As per your request, I looked into school transferrals, as well as other means of gaining our OWL’s, as only those are required to become emancipated. I spoke to a few of the teachers from Beauxbatons, and the other professor from Durmstrang, Professor Liert. Which, by the way, makes no sense to bring the Headmaster and only one other Professor, but from what I’ve seen and heard from the Durmstrang students, Professor Liert was supposed to be the Deputy Headmaster, but Karkaroff bribed his way in, and when the old Headmaster retired, Karkaroff jumped in.”

“Theo.”

“Right, sorry. Bad news; a transfer to Beauxbatons is impossible at this point in time.”

Theo ducked the knife she threw, knowing that even though his friend appreciated blunt honesty ( _no lies,_ she’d said, _I’ve had enough of people lying to me)_ , sometimes it required a little more tact than he was gifted with.

“Why?” Belladonna growled. “Why is it impossible?”

“Simply put, they don’t have space at the moment.” Theo explained. “Monsieur Delacroix, when I spoke to him, said that the space available in classes and the dorms is non-existent, due to the rising numbers of students. If we’d asked two years ago, yes, we could have, but the best they can offer us is a transfer sometime in our sixth year. He was most apologetic, but Beauxbatons have recently started a new program that invites all those with creature heritage, including werewolves, to enrol and…”

“Theo.” Belladonna interrupted. “You’re rambling. I’m not going to kill you, so breathe.”

“The desk says differently.” Theo snapped back, nodding towards the pile of ash next to her meaningfully. Huh, she hadn’t noticed it burning ( _rageangerwrath)_. She took a deep breath, and tried to relax, ‘tried’ being the key word.

“Beauxbatons is out.” Belladonna managed to get out. “Durmstrang.”

Theo winced, and Belladonna sighed, prepared for more bad news.

“Let me guess, they’re out of space as well?”

“No, it’s…the Headmaster needs to approve all transfers. Karkaroff is a Death Eater. You are the ‘Girl-Who-Lived’ (don’t give me that look), therefore the only reason he’d approve of it is to kill you somewhere untraceable.”

“He can try.” Belladonna twirled her (sixth, eighth?) knife, and bared her teeth. Theo shook his head.

“Professor Liert, however, said that he would be more than happy to have all three of us take placement tests to see where our current levels are at and, if Karkaroff meets his untimely demise soonish, accept us into Durmstrang. Just as soon as he, and I quote, “ _gets rid of the insignificant worm called the Deputy Headmaster”_. He seemed to look forward to that, so obviously, the Karkaroff Administration is not very well liked.”

Belladonna hummed, and tapped her chin with an elegant forefinger.

“This…Professor Liert. What was he like?”

“Kind.” Theo answered, with very little hesitation. “While I was speaking with him, he excused himself four times to sort out his students, and returned within a minute. The students that I spoke to had nothing but respect for him, and some odd sort of reverence that made no sense. Even _Krum_ looks up to him.”

“Who?” Belladonna frowned. The name was familiar, but…oh. Theo was giving her his ‘you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me’ expression.

“World-famous Quidditch player? You know, the whole World…never mind.” He stopped when he saw the blank look she was giving him.

“I have no Wizarding contact until I get my school supplies under the supervision of whatever professor deems it necessary to escort me.” Belladonna stated. “The few times I have managed to escape, someone has always tracked me down, and I wake up in Hell once more. But continue, please. Professor Liert.”

“Respected, fair, kind, but strict and a hard taskmaster. Background check yielded a history of illicit potion brewing without instructor supervision, several times, top grades, and a heavily redacted file that was so wrapped up in red tape it would have taken me months to get into it. However, it was attached to another two, but my contact couldn’t get names.”

“But nothing overly illegal? Suspicious?”

“Apart from the redacted file, no.”

Belladonna hummed thoughtfully, and turned to stare out the window, the tall masts of the docked Durmstrang ship swaying slightly as it rocked in the water.

“Belladonna…” Theo began, continuing when she hummed in acknowledgement. “I wrote to Mahoutokoro. I know that none of us speak Japanese, and that it may be a bit of an extreme measure, but Umino- _sensei_ said that he would be more than happy to send us placement exams as well. However, he did add that even if we were guaranteed a place based on our scores, we would still need to take a language test, as they don’t teach in English.”

“I see.” She walked over to Theo, and squeezed his shoulder. “Well done, Theo. I’m impressed that you got that amount of information in such a short time.”

“It was nothing.” He murmured, a light blush dusting across his freckles. Belladonna resisted the urge to frown, and made a mental note to improve her Theo’s self-confidence. After her instincts to flee this hellhole stopped screaming, or something else of a more drastic nature happened. Because whatever her intuition was trying to tell her, it and the portents agreed on one thing.

It would happen tonight.

.

.

The Great Hall was decorated in the most despicable Wizarding Way possible, and Belladonna didn’t mean that as a compliment. Gaudy pumpkins carved into stupid likenesses littered the Hall (the only thing impressive about them was the size, but she suspected a little something ‘extra’ had been added), while enchanted bats swooped around the rafters, or got tangled in people’s hair (a girl from Durmstrang had been most put out when it had escaped her cuddling, a boy from Beauxbatons had actually screamed, suffering from chiroptophobia*). The food was a mass of sugar, fat and diabetes, there were _bowls_ of sweets placed at precise intervals along the tables, and it made Belladonna wish for the light French cuisine from last night, or even the Russian food that had tasted like _home (achepainhole)_. At the very least, she could set it on fire and the whole Hall would burn down within seconds, but her new French friends and that weird Durmstrang boy who kept running away from the females of the other schools (smart lad) and hid at her study table, as well as her Luna and her Theo, were enclosed on all sides by the plebeians who had the gall to call themselves her classmates, yearmates, schoolmates, whatever. The worthless peasants weren’t worth her time, or her magic.

The Headmaster stood, and started speaking, but Belladonna tuned him out as usual, amusing herself with playing ‘ _Stab-Burn-Ruin_ with Theo across the Hall, the charmed diary that they were using to write in hidden under the table (Luna didn’t have hers, otherwise she would have joined in). So far they were trying to decide whether to Stab one of Theo’s more vocal tormentors, Warrington, or whether to Ruin his family standing; Belladonna to Stab, Theo to Ruin.

.

[ _He’s an arrogant poltroon, Theo darling. He deserved to die in agony.]_

_[ **His father is also one of my Grandfather’s business partners. I could be implicated in the murder and be locked up. If his family is ruined, then the suspicion would fall onto my grandfather.]**_

_[Can’t I kill him?]_

**_[No.]_ **

_[Just a little?]_

**_[NO.]_ **

.

“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for; the selection of the Champions!”

Belladonna sighed, but deigned to pay attention. It wouldn’t do to be uninformed, after all ( _knowledgeispower)_. She eyed the flaming Goblet (Goblet of Fire, what an _original_ name), noting that it needed a better clean than the one the caretaker had given it, with proper polish and perhaps a soak in warm water, and almost dismissed it out of hand before her stomach started swooping like one of those blasted bats.

_Not good._

The Goblet flared (her flames were prettier), an interesting mix of rainbow colours, before a neat rectangle of baby blue paper floated out of the Goblet and into the waiting hand of the Headmaster.

.

“The Champion for Beauxbatons is…Fleur Delacour!”

Belladonna applauded politely, pleased that the blonde witch had been selected. The woman was interesting, which more than she could say for the majority of the students currently sitting in the Great Hall, including the French students who were currently crying ( _patheticpeasants)._ The blonde met her eyes, and Belladonna gave her a nod, lips twitching into what could be called a smile for an emotionally stunted person. Fleur disappeared into the antechamber.

_Flare._

“The Champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum!”

Compared to the applause for Delacour, the cheers for Krum was deafening. Belladonna looked up, and saw the weird Durmstrang boy that had shared her study table walk towards the antechamber, looking extremely uncomfortable with all the attention. She could relate. She could relate quite well. The rest of the Durmstrang contingent had started shouting some sort of war chant as Krum left the table, and she saw his spine straighten, getting an approving nod from who had to be Professor Liert.

_Flare._

“The Champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory!”

Belladonna went temporarily deaf. Behind her, Luna winced and covered her ears. Ah, that’s right, Luna was sitting in Hufflepuff today, since none of the Ravenclaws had moved to give her a seat, and Beauxbatons had taken up the extra seating. Yellow flooded her vision ( _sunwarmthcaringscorch)_ as Hufflepuff screamed their victory. To be fair, it wasn’t as though Hufflepuff got much credit, but Belladonna wasn’t sure why. Hard work always paid off in the end, and loyalty was hard to come by.

The Hufflepuff Champion took a while to make his way up to the dais where the Headmaster was standing, extracting himself from the mass of hugs and arms and legs and hands (Belladonna was pretty sure some had managed to kiss the prefect or cop a feel), and grinned. Belladonna squinted suspiciously ( _I could have sworn there were sparkles when he smiled,_ she told Luna later, _and possibly some flowers in the background)_ , but Diggory had disappeared before she could dissect the anomaly.

Her intuition blazed a warning, and she snapped her gaze back to the Headmaster as he blathered on about something that wasn’t as important as she’d thought it would be, yet….

.

Belladonna glared at the Goblet, instantly suspicious. It hadn’t gone out. Three champions were chosen, from each school, yet the stupid cup was still burning. Something was nagging at every self-preservation instinct she had to leave, to walk through those damned doors and never come back, to run far away, cover her tracks, go _home (warmthsafewrathbelonging)_ , even if she didn’t know where exactly that was. Luna, sitting at her customary Hufflepuff seat behind her, leant across the space, and touched Belladonna’s shoulder.

“Double, double, toil and trouble.” She chanted, and Belladonna nodded, eyes fixed on the Goblet as it flared once more, and a scrap of paper burst into being. The Headmaster caught it, the Great Hall silent now, as he cleared his throat and announced the fourth contender.

.

.

“Belladonna Potter.”

.

Oh, but she would make the peasants _pay_ for this.

.

.


	7. Scorn Her Own Image

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Scorn her own image..." Hamlet, William Shakespeare
> 
> .
> 
> "Void"- Lucas King, Dark Piano
> 
> .

“Belladonna Potter.” 

Her name rang out again, and she gritted her teeth. She would not swear, it was terribly uncouth, and not befitting a lady. The Headmaster caught her gaze, and she felt something try to worm its way into her mind, and she closed her eyes, appearing to her housemates as though she was trying to reign in her temper (EvanstemperBlackrage). The feeling vanished.

.

“No.”

.

The silence in the Hall was thick.

“Ms Potter…”

“I refuse.” She snapped, rising from her seat and wrapping her magic around her to keep it from lashing out. It wouldn’t do to set the table on fire like last time. It draped itself around her like a thick blanket; comforting and warm, protective, and she let herself bask in the triplicate weave for a brief moment.

“Ms Potter, please make your way to the antechamber.” The Headmaster called, firm.

“I, Belladonna Vulpecula Potter, did not enter my name for the Tri-Wizard Tournament, nor did I ask another to do so for me.” She asserted. “So I have declared, with magic as my witness, so mote it be.” There was a pulse as her oath took, and her wand lit up. 

“The antechamber, Ms Potter.” The Headmaster snapped. “Now.”

She resisted the urge to reply (bitemepeasant), and stalked towards the door, face stony, ignoring the buzz of insults, conspiracies and treachery. Oh, but she would make them pay, starting with the Headmaster as she burned him to ashes, and then the potion’s peasant as he choked on his own blood after she had stabbed him in a lung, then perhaps the bushy peasant for being irritating and nosey and maybe she would like to die in her precious library as it burnt down around her…

“Belladonna? What ez it? Do zey need us in ze hall?” Lost in her musings, she hadn’t noticed that she had made her way into the antechamber, the Headmaster following her inside and the door shutting behind him with a resounding ‘bang’.

“If only.” She replied, terse, before a hand pushed her forward into the centre of the room. She knew that it had been the Headmaster; his magic was roiling and suffocating in his anger, although who it was directed at she had no clue. The hand gripped her shoulder and spun her around, and she came face to face with the stuck-up Mr Crouch who was head of some department.

“Girl! Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” He demanded. His breath was putrid, and Belladonna jerked back.

“Unhand me, peasant, else I shall remove your hands from your body.” She hissed, pushing the hand off her shoulder. The usage of ‘girl’ was an unpleasant reminder of the summers and the days before this pit (before magic, her mind whispered, before freedom beckoned), and she had no desire to relive those ‘halcyon’ days.

“Is that a threat?” The crouching peasant drew himself up and puffed out his chest. Belladonna narrowed her eyes.

“A promise, cur. I have done it once, and I can and will do it again.” And Parkinson’s screams had been music to her ears.

“Barty, what do the rules state?” The Headmaster stepped between them, and placed his back to her as if he were dismissing her (fool, I am the spider, and you are in my parlour). The crouching peasant sniffed, and straightened at the attention from all who had gathered in the antechamber. Including, to Belladonna’s surprise, the fake professor.

“The rules are absolute. The name entered creates binding contract with the participant’s magic. Ms Potter, through her own foolishness and stupidity, is now magically bound to compete.”

“But ‘ogwarts cannot ‘ave two Champions.” Madame Maxine protested.

“Ms Potter signed the paper, Headmistress, therefore she will compete.” The crouching peasant insisted. Belladonna stiffened at the condescending tone, and stepped forward, blood boiling.

“I did not sign it with my full name, therefore it is not binding. I refuse to participate.” Belladonna snapped at the stupid crouching peasant (hidden moron).

“It contains your magical signature, which is as good as signing your full name, Ms Potter!” The crouching peasant had the nerve to shout at her (howdareyoudiepeasant).

“It was obviously ripped from one of my stupid assignments, you foppling cad. If I were to enter a tournament of such ‘prestige’, then I would have had the decency to enter my name on a nice piece of parchment. Even so, I am underage. How do you propose that I got past the age line?”

Fleur discreetly moved away from the suddenly flaring fire, red starting to make itself known within the normally orange flames, tugging a somewhat amused Krum with her. It wouldn’t do if they were to both spontaneously combust. The argument was impressive; the little spitfire had more guts than most of the adults in the room. The spitfire knew it too.

“You clearly must have asked an older student to enter it for you!”

“And which ‘older student’ could I have asked, peasant?” Belladonna gestured angrily. “Clearly, since you are blind as well as stupid, I shall have to spell it out to you and use small words that you are capable of comprehending. No. One. Fucking. Cares. I am a pariah in my own house, let alone the school. So again, peasant, which older student could I have asked?”

“Ignore her, Mister Crouch.” The potions peasant (drat, he was still alive, she was sure that the poisoned wine would get him). “Ms Potter is simply trying to save face. After all, it would not do for the Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Black, Peverell and Potter to be caught up in a scandal such as this.”

Belladonna stilled, and Cedric, from his spot by the door (for a Hufflepuff, he had very good survival instincts, and Potter’s temper Hogwarts legend), could not help but think that this was what the calm before the storm looked like, personified into a tiny Gryffindor who could make her peers bow with mere words and set people on fire with a glance.

“What did you say, peasant?” Her voice low, and the threat of senseless violence hung in the air.

“Just pointing out that with the current political climate, Ms Potter, it would be best if you didn’t draw any more…unsavoury attention to yourself. We wouldn’t want to see the three Houses which you will inherit fall into obscurity.” Professor Doge sneered, and Belladonna gritted her teeth, feeling her temper start to rear its head, backed by her magic (firewrathangerBlackmadness).

“Choose your next words carefully.” She uttered through the haze descending upon her mind (PeverellwrathPotteranger). “The last person who didn’t lost more than their tongue.”

How dare the peasant threaten her Family, as small as it was (herTheoherLunaherFay), her reputation? He had the sheer nerve to threaten her, this weak blunderbuss who licked the boots of those more powerful than he in order to gain favour. Oh, but he would burn. 

Some distant part of her mind registered that the other Champions were now next to the door, the weird peasant Krum and the brotherly peasant (Cedric, Luna corrected, Cedric Diggory. He’s like that with everyone) in front of Fleur. She wanted to tell them that they needn’t have bothered. Like calls to like, dark calls to dark, and fire will call to fire. Besides, whether the Frenchwoman knew it or not, Fleur was hers. 

.

She stared down the potion’s peasant, eyes glowing poison green, lips twisted into a sinister smile, and she could see the potion’s peasant gulp, Adam’s apple bobbing. She laughed (ushishishi, peasant).

“You don’t have the balls to do anything, Professor Doge. Unless you want both the Neutral and Dark Factions to come down on your head and end your otherwise pitiful existence.”

.

“Enough.” The Headmaster commanded, cutting across the potion’s peasant’s no doubt pitiful retort. “Ms Potter will participate, or she will risk losing her magic. That is final.”

.

The fire went out. So did the candles, and the antechamber was plunged into darkness. The only light left were the tendrils of red flames winding their way up Belladonna’s arms and the unearthly glow of her eyes.

.

“What did you just say?”

The flames flickered, and Belladonna gritted her teeth, trying to keep a tight lid on her temper. It was screaming, begging to be let out, rattling the cage and banging on the walls, thick claws wrapped around the bar (threatriptearkill). She felt everyone take a few steps back as her magic fluctuated, no longer wrapped around her, but tendrils whipping around her like the tails of some great beast, snapping at the sickly yellow strands that ventured too close and noticed the flinch that came from the crouching peasant.

“The contract made with the Goblet states that those who do not participate in the Tournament after their name is drawn will forfeit their magic. Didn’t you research this Tournament before you entered?” The crouching peasant sneered. Belladonna glared at him.

“Since I had no intention of entering, no, I didn’t. I had more pressing matters to attend to.” She snapped back.

“Stupid girl, if you don’t participate, then your life is forfeit! Nothing else matters except the fact that you participate in the Tournament.”

“Have care on how you address me, Crouch.” Her voice was glacial. “Do not mistake my age for naïveté. I can and will end you how I see fit, whether all your filthy secrets come to light, or I make you burn in front of the Wizengamot.”

“You little bitch! I should….”

A sharp flare of light stopped Crouch in his tracks before he could take a step forward, and Belladonna winced at the brightness (whitebrighthurts), and covered her ears as a loud ‘bang’ echoed through the chamber.

.

“That is enough, Mr Crouch.” A tall blonde man stepped forward from where he had been leaning against the wall, face set in a scowl. “There are ladies present; it would do you some good to curb your tongue of such foul language.”

“Deputy Headmaster Liert.” The crouching peasant all but snarled, like the animal he was.

“Correct, and you would do well to remember that.” The German professor narrowed his gaze at Belladonna, and she lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed (bowbeforeme). The German professor’s eyes were a very nice shade of sky blue, and held an intensity that was rarely found in the wizarding world (dulleyesdullpeasants).

“You are Herr Nott’s Belladonna.” He stated, nodding, voice low enough that the others would not hear.

“You have spoken to my Theo.” She acknowledged. The German professor frowned.

“You did not enter?”

“No.”

“You did not ask another student?”

“No.”

“Liar!” The crouching peasant interrupted, apoplectic in fury, his face a rather unflattering shade of aubergine. 

“Be silent!” Liert snapped. “If Ms Potter did not enter herself, nor ask another student, then perhaps you should be investigating who entered the name of a minor. Or is the British Ministry too incompetent to follow basic procedure? As usual.” The last was uttered so low, Belladonna wasn’t sure that she heard correctly, but judging by the irritation building in the lines on the German professor’s face, he was fast losing his patience.

“Now see here, my good sir.” The fat peasant spluttered. “Who would want to harm Ms Potter?”

“Imbécile dégénéré.” And so Madame Maxine enters the fray. Belladonna was almost excited to hear what the stately woman had to say, if the opening insult was any indication to her feelings. Inbred fool indeed.

“Please use whatever brain cells you have left, Mr Bagman, and think for yourself. I can think of ten people off the top of my head.” Liert bit out. “And that’s the ones that are in Hogwarts. Now, despite it going against my very morals, Ms Potter will have to participate. However, I think that there could be some measures put into place to ensure the safety of all out champions?”

“Yes, well…” The fat peasant blustered. “The First Task will be in November, and is designed to test our Champions courage. You will be notified what the Task is closer to the event. And to think!” The fat peasant clapped his hands together. “Four Champions, one our very own Girl-Who-Lived!”

“Girl-Who-Lived to slaughter you all for your idiocy.” Belladonna muttered, folding her arms and glaring into the fire (Not yet, her flames whispered, the pretty red dancing in her mind’s eye, not yet).

She stared into the flames as the crouching peasant, the Headmasters and the fat peasant left, bickering like children. Liert looked as though he wanted to say something to Viktor, but the cowardly Karkaroff demanded his presence. 

“Be careful.” Were his parting words, directed at all the Champions, and he left in a swirl of black robes. Headmistress Maxine, in an odd show of affection, merely patted Belladonna on the shoulder, and gave Fleur a meaningful look, to which the Frenchwoman nodded.

“Belladonna…” Fleur began, and Belladonna snapped up her hand, the pretty red still winding its way around her fingers, silencing the Veela with the gesture.

“Please, Fleur, not until tomorrow. I am not angry at you, and I do not wish to take my own frustrations out on you.”

“Understood.” The Frenchwoman bowed her head, and came towards her, dropping a quick kiss on her forehead. “Sleep well, petite souer. Bonne nuit.”

“Bonne nuit.” She echoed, and then there was a hand on her head, ruffling her hair playfully.

“Leka nosht, Madzhun*. Ve vill speak in morning, da?” Krum left without an answer, but Belladonna knew that she would have agreed anyway. She hated asking for help, but knowledge was power, and knowledge was going to get her through this death trap. Besides, she had to hex him for messing her hair.

Then there was a hand on her shoulder, and someone was guiding her out of the antechamber and into the now empty Great Hall.

“Come on, Potter. I’ll escort you back to your dorms, since none of the professor’s saw fit to give you a pass.” Diggory, of course. And he sounded as exhausted as she felt.

.

“Are you angry at me?” Belladonna asked as they made their way up to the fifth floor. The brotherly peasant faltered in his steps, but recovered quickly.

“No, why on earth would you think that?”

“I stole your glory.” And Belladonna abhorred people doing that to her, so why should anyone else be different? “Hufflepuff’s moment to shine, to be more than the ‘leftovers’ the majority of the school has deemed you to be, and some stupid, attention seeking Gryffindor stole the limelight.” She could not hide the traces of bitterness that laced her words. Once again, she was dragged into the spotlight, when she would have much rather remained in the shadows.

“Belladonna.” Diggory stopped, and she did the same, turning to face him. “I am angry at the organizers, whoever put your name in, and the fact that no doubt Gryffindor has decided to throw a party in ‘honour’, which means that it will be my housemates the idiots harass for class notes. Yes, I am upset that Hufflepuff is shunted back into the shadows, but not at you. Never at you.”

Belladonna measured his words carefully, and found them sincere.

“Thank you for your honesty, Diggory.” She gave a slight bow of her head. “Would you like to join myself and the other champions in the library tomorrow? Research.”

“I would be honoured, Heiress Potter.” Diggory bowed. “This is where I stop. I may be a prefect, but I am still not allowed to venture into other House dorms until I make Head Boy.”

“Not if?” Belladonna raised an eyebrow at his declaration. Diggory gave her a wry grin.

“What is hard work without an ambition to fuel it? When I make Head Boy, when Hufflepuff beats Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup, and the House Cup. When I place first in the Healers program. When I become Head of St Mungo’s.”

“Then work hard.”

“I plan to. Goodnight, Ms Potter.”

The brotherly peasant sauntered off, whistling cheerfully, the sound echoing off the stone walls.

“What a night, huh?” Belladonna muttered to herself, shaking her head. Of all the things that she had expected to happen tonight, this wasn’t’ one of them. She paused, staring out a window at the starlit lake. “I apologize, ancestors, for not honouring you tonight, but as you can no doubt see, I really am…fucked.”

One more flight, and she would be in the lion’s den, with no angel to close their mouths. She wished now that she had managed to convince the blasted Hat to put her in Ravenclaw, or even Hufflepuff, but alas, she was stuck in the house of the stupid and ignorant, with a heritage of blood and riches that none of them even considered, let alone honoured.

Oh, how she despised her housemates. The portrait of the Singing Lady (she was not fat, and it was rude to point out a lady’s weight) came into view, and she could already hear the loud thumping of music, and the shouts and cheering.

“Once more into the breach.” She muttered, and stepped forward.

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.

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“The woman of the hour! Belladonna Potter, the Gryffindor Champion!”

Cheering erupted around her, and Belladonna wished for a silencing charm as her ears started ringing from the din, a headache brewing. She also wished to hex the stupid moron who had announced her presence to the rambunctious group, whom had spotted her trying to get to the stairs. People were slapping her back, congratulating her, touching her (howdareyoutouchmepeasants) and asking her how she managed to enter her name, before there was a high-pitched shriek of rage, and something knocked her down. Belladonna was disorientated for a moment, the artsy peasant and the herb peasant helping her to her feet as the crowd backed away from the ensuing fight. The pretty red fire, always so close, brought to the surface by the peasants who dragged her into this hellhole and the bloody Tournament (Panem et Circus, her mind giggled hysterically, dinner and a show), flickered dangerously.

“I cannot believe you! After all your parents did to save you, you throw away their sacrifice by entering yourself into this Tournament? People have died in this, Bella!”

“Shut up, Granger.” The artsy peasant snapped. 

“T-t-that was rude.” The herb peasant added, his grip tightening on Belladonna’s arms as her head throbbed (toomuchtoomuch).

“Quiet, squib, it’s none of your business.” Ah, the brash weasel peasant stepped into the fray. Excellent; it had been a while since she eviscerated someone.

“It’s none of yours, either, peasants.” Belladonna snapped, migraine and the accumulation of all the day’s stresses catching up to her. “If I wanted to die, there are far easier ways to go about it.” 

“You are underage, it’s against the rules to participate!” The bushy peasant screeched. 

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Belladonna snarled. “Do you honestly think that I wanted to join a Tournament where the death toll was so high they had to cancel it? I have better things, more important things to waste my magic on than to pander to the masses and provide entertainment.” 

“You should be grateful for the chance.” The brash peasant scoffed. “Belladonna Potter, stealing the glory and winning the gold once more.”

.

Silence stole the breath of those gathered. 

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.

“Grateful?” She bit out, four feet of space cleared around her as the pretty red dripped onto the floor and sizzled. “For what? The chance that if the fucking Goblet deems that I didn’t try hard enough, I will be stripped of my magic? That I, a minor, am now entered in a death Tournament meant for adults? Tell me, plebeian, what exactly should I be grateful for?”

“Oh Merlin, Potter swore.” She heard the fiery peasant whisper in horror. “Shields up.”

“Don’t bother.” She snapped at him, pushing past the bushy peasant and making sure to punch her in the ribs as she went past, making her way to her dorm (hercagetraptrapout). “I’m tired. Any peasants who dare to disturb me will suffer.”

The peasants parted like the Red Sea, and Belladonna swept up the staircase, slamming the door behind her, the doorknob glowing a cherry-red from the heat. She would kill them. She would kill them all, then set the corpses on fire and dance among the ashes and bathe in their blood (BlackmadnessPeverellinsanity) and she would enjoy every fucking second of it (VOISHITTYTRASH). The bathroom door shut behind her (the one place the peasants wouldn’t interrupt her in, or walk in without knocking), and she locked it with a flick of her wrist, Black Magic wrapping itself around the lock with a snarl and bared teeth. 

Her head was pounding, and the wavy black lines that signalled a migraine surged like some ancient sea monster breaching the waves. Her magic howled, Peverell battling something that mimicked the sickly-yellow strands that had some from the crouching peasant, except these were…older, much older (ancientunforgivingcold), Potter encircling the bathroom as the bushy peasant yelled something, and the Black retaliated, a scream coming from the other side of the door.

.

Peverell snapped back into her core, and she reeled in shock as it retreated deep within her. Her skin itched, and her eyes felt as though they were about to burst out of their sockets or explode into flame, and her stomach was trying to expel what limited food she had managed to eat that night. Then, the pain. Oh, the pain. White-hot needles pressing into her nerves, and she bit down on her fist to muffle a scream, wishing for her meds, for anything that would take the pain away as she convulsed on the floor, a few whimpers escaping her mouth. She could have trembled on the floor for mere minutes, or maybe hours; when she was in pain, she lost all track of time.

She choked out a sob as something settled over her chest, and tightened like a noose around her magic, and for a few moments, she couldn’t breathe, her vision fluctuating in and out (whiteblackcolourwhiteblackwhiteblack) as she struggled to get air into her lungs. She hauled herself up against the sink, ignoring the banging that came from the door that separated the bathroom from the dorm, and the shouts from the bloody bushy-haired peasant demanding her to open up, and tried to swallow, before something deep down snapped.

The noose tightened to excruciating pain, and Belladonna thought that she might die, and then relaxed, as if someone had cut the rope, and she could breathe, but something itched, and she felt…lighter, but as though she were covered in oil or bloodgorebrains. 

.

She froze. Where had that thought come from? How would she know what…?

A spot of red appeared in the sink, and then another; drip, drip, drop…

“A nosebleed?” Belladonna muttered to herself, incredulous. She had never, ever bled for such a paltry reason; the only time she had was after the stupid snake bit her arm. She wiped her nose, irritated, and stared at the blood uncomprehendingly for an embarrassingly long time, before a flash of blonde floated out of the corner of her eye, and she turned to lay into the giggly peasant…no one was there. Well, not in the bathroom with her; she could now hear the cat professor ordering her to open the door (bowbeforemepeasants). 

There.

Another flash of blonde, and she turned to face the mirror where it had…oh. That…was not her reflection. She tilted her head (changedfacemaskhow?), swallowing hard when the girl in the mirror copied her. It should have been her; the cheekbones were the same (aristocracyhighbornroyalty) and her jaw shape, but her eyes, the acid green eyes changed to…she broke the mirror, his eyes taunting her (hatetwinsparehateHATE). Ash blonde hair floated around her face and she dragged her fingers through it, heedless of the blood now dripping off her fingers, desperate for it to cover her eyes once more, red staining the blonde to pink. Everything was coming back now, and her mind was filled to the brim with memories, impressions, thoughts (toomuchtoomuchTOOMUCH)…

She howled as her mind burned, something in her chest snapping back into place, and all the glass in the bathroom shattered as she fell to the floor.

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In the Varia mansion, halfway across Europe, Xanxus barged into the Rain Officers quarters, eyes wide and glassy with shock, whiskey spilt down the front of his shirt and glass splinters in his fingers. Squalo leapt to his feet, chest still aching from the surge of Flames five minutes ago, upsetting the stack of paper on his desk.

“Voi! Shitty boss, what…?” Squalo shouted, but Xanxus interrupted him, three words causing the loud swordsman to fall silent.

.

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“Belphegor is alive.”

.

.

.

.

The story starts something like this.

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Harry James Potter died.

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The Boy-Who-Lived never did.

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.


	8. It Is Not Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It is not madness…” Hamlet, William Shakespeare  
> .  
> ‘Survivor’- 2WEI (Epic Cover)  
> .

“Theo.” Belladonna called, hiding underneath the Invisibility cloak looted from the Peverell Vault. Theo, bless him, looked around, confused, before continuing on his way towards the Great Hall for breakfast.

“Theo!” She hissed, angry and a little frustrated. “Third Floor, now!”

This time, Theo did stop, and spun towards her voice.

“Belladonna?”

“Now!” She snapped, and spun on her heel, careful not to let the cloak billow out and reveal her feet. There was the sound of footsteps following her, and she quickened her pace, needing her Theo’s counsel immediately. She slammed open the door to their room, and then slammed it shut as soon as Theo was inside, pulling off the cloak as she did so.

“We have a problem.”

Theo stared for a second, before a curse flew past her face, and she froze.

“A warning shot.” Theo growled. “Who the hell are you?”

“Now is not the time to play dumb, Theo.” Belladonna snapped, her blonde ( _wrongrightwrong?)_ swaying in and out of her vision. “This is serious!”

Theo paused, and lowered his wand, eyes narrowed.

“Belladonna.”

“Well done.” She clapped slowly, sarcasm evident in every line of her body. “Do you want a DNA test to go with that observation?”

“Why is your hair blonde?” Theo seemed incapable of moving past the fact that her hair was a different colour. His eyes were fixated on the ashen locks with unwavering intensity.

“I don’t know! I woke up like this! How the hell should I know how my hair changes a different colour?” Her voice sounded vaguely hysterical, and Belladonna forced herself to calm down. Going into histrionics over something as mundane as her hair should not be happening, and yet…it was _her_ hair ( _BlackhairPottercurls)_. A mark of her status, her power ( _a witch’s hair is a warning,_ Fay had whispered to her one sleepless night, _length is decided by power, colour by House, style by magic. Your colouring is Black, your length is Peverell, and your curls are Potter. Dark Magic, Power, Chaos Magic)_.

“I reiterate.” Belladonna stated. “This is a problem.”

“I don’t understand.” Theo pulled a face, incomprehension on his face. “How is this a problem?”

“Theo.” Belladonna hissed. “This is a serious problem! I can’t go into the Great Hall looking like…like…this!” She gestured angrily to her hair. “Granger would notice instantly, and blab to everyone.”

Of course Theo wouldn’t understand, she thought, he’s spent most of his life invisible and not being the centre of attention. And he wasn’t a _witch_ , no matter what his magical proclivities indicated otherwise ( _runesdivinationpotionsherbologist)_.

“Granger’s in the hospital wing.” Theo stared at her. “She ran afoul of some ward last night, and she was turned inside out. Thankfully, Madame Pomfrey reversed it, otherwise you would be brought up on murder charges.”

“What?” Belladonna frowned. “But she was in the dorm this morning, being incessantly annoying as always. Then she went down to breakfast before the rest of us; we could hear her arguing with the brash weasel peasant.”

Theo frowned in reply, and narrowed his eyes. Belladonna growled. Who gave a flying _fuck_ about the bushy peasant! If she had run afoul of some ward ( _Blackwardkillerward)_ and died, all the better for her. They were on a tangent.

“Theo, I am _blonde_. My eyes are a _different_ colour. The Headmaster will know that something’s gone wrong, and who knows what will happen then.”

“When did it happen? Last night, correct?”

“Yes, after I had to deal with the stupid peasants wanting to make me their ‘Champion’ and saying that I should be _grateful._ It was…suffocating.”

“I bet.” Theo muttered. “And then?”

“I locked myself in the dorm bathroom for some privacy. My magic was…unsettled, and I didn’t want to kill anyone, no matter how annoying the bushy peasant is. Then…”

A nosebleed, her magic going wild and recoiling from something far more ancient than House Black, almost as old as House Peverell, seeing _his_ eyes ( _whoseeyes?hatehateHATE)_ and the mirrors shattering ( _sevenyearsbadluck)_. Then nothing. Nothing until morning. The giggly peasant had sat by her bedside and explained that the cat professor had entered the bathroom alone, and then come out with Belladonna covered in blood and scratches. Magic had been used to heal her wounds and change her into nightclothes; no one had touched her ( _small mercies)_. Her hair had been explained as a recessive Black talent known as Metamorphing, and that it had gone ash blonde in the shock of having an ancient artefact choose her as Champion.

Apparently, Aunt Narcissa ( _blondecunningkindpowerful)_ had the same thing happen to her, except it was the shock of losing her first child.

“It got complicated.” Belladonna finished. “I don’t…understand why it…how it could…” For perhaps the first time in her life, words failed her, and she had trouble articulating what she wanted to say. Why did her magic react like that? How could it have affected her hair, her eyes? And why the _ever-loving burning Hell_ did she feel such hatred at the mere sight of a pair of _eyes._

“I’ll look into it. Is there anything else you haven’t told me?” Theo demanded, standing in front of her. Belladonna realized, with a small twinge of amusement, that he was taller than her by an inch. And that he’d grown a spine since he made her acquaintance; gone was the shy, stuttering first-year she had shared compartment with.

“There are…memories, that aren’t mine.” Belladonna admitted. And sweet hellfire, had they been driving her mad. They would flit in and out of her mind, and when she tried to catch them, they proved to be slippery and elusive, and it vexed her something fierce.

“At least, I don’t think they’re mine. They have a male feel to them, yet…” they felt like they belonged in her head, and that scared her.

.

.

Because if she wasn’t Belladonna Vulpecula Potter, who was she?

.

.

.

.

Belladonna would be the first person to admit that she had a _very_ limited supply of patience, and that her fuse was short and explosive, but after a month of incessant _insects_ clamouring for her attention, be it benign or sinister, she was ready to kill something. Or _someone._ The first to go would be the stupid ignoramus whom had created the ‘ _Potter Stinks’_ badges. So much for the Hufflepuff loyalty. Or did the few brain cells that the Hogwarts population possess die an instant and sudden death as soon as her name came out of the accursed Goblet? Were they all so stupid as to forget the _magically binding vow_ that she had made the night of?

The only upside to this was that Luna and Fleur, had managed to figure out a semi-permanent colour change charm that would stay on her hair until she removed it. Her eyes, however ( _hatehateHATE)_ refused to be changed by magic, and tended to ache horrifically if magic even brushed the areas near them. And her magical education was improving by leaps and bounds, thanks to the concentrated efforts of both Fleur and Cedric, _and_ Viktor. Theo and Luna joined in when they could, but since only Belladonna’s classes were cancelled due to her forced participation in the bloody tournament, it was few and far between. The three older students proved to her why they had been selected from the tournament; Cedric was a veritable genius in Transfiguration, there were hardly any Charms that Fleur could not master, and Viktor, while known for his flying skills, proved to be extremely knowledgeable about Runes, Rituals and Potions. Belladonna was pleased to note that although the three were older than her, she could still outstrip them in DADA and duelling, having a quicker draw and the sheer power to fuel her spells.

So, it was during a rather intense study session that Fleur was leading, trying to beat six ‘absolutely necessary but needlessly complicated’ charms into their heads, that their private time was interrupted, and Belladonna, whom had been struggling with one charm for the past three hours, had finally found herself teetering on the edge of insanity.

“What, peasant?” She hissed at the stalker peasant, glaring at the blasted camera that hung around his neck, wanted nothing better than to set in on fire.

“P...p...p…professor Dumbledore w…w…wants to see you all in the antechamber. The p…p…press is here to interview you.” The stalker peasant stuttered, shrinking back from the force of her glare.

“Then scarper.” She snapped. “Let him know that we come hence.” The stalker peasant fled, and she turned back to face one disappointed look, and two amused ones. She turned her glare to Cedric.

“What?”

“There was no need to be rude to the messenger.” He rebuked. Belladonna bristled, unknowingly reminding the others of a hooded cobra.

“Tell me, brotherly peasant. When you have to share space with the little _worm_ who insists on popping up unwanted and taking photos without consent and then having the sheer audacity to ask for a _fucking autograph_ , having him pester you every time you set foot into the common room and waits for you at the bottom of the stairs, or intrudes on your private spaces and ignores every single warning you give him, then you may lecture me about being rude.”

There was the smell of burning parchment, and Fleur sighed.

“Bella, zat was ze leest of spells zat we needed.”

“My apologies.” Belladonna deflated.

“Das ist the vurst time for zem to ask you.” Viktor, ever insightful, cut straight to the heart of the matter. “And zey are not doing anything against de other students.”

“Correct, as usual.” Cedric sighed. “Sorry, Heiress Potter, but Hufflepuff don’t want to listen. We can be remarkably stubborn at times.”

“I’m aware.” Was the acidic reply, before Belladonna sighed. “We might as well go see what the Headmaster wants. And the press.”

.

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“Belladonna Potter…” The creepy wand peasant turned to her, frowning. “Most curious…”

“Garrick.” The Headmaster prompted. “Her wand?” Ollivander looked confused, before shaking his head.

“Of course, my apologies.” He held out his hand, and Belladonna cautiously placed it in his hand, wary of letting someone else touch her weapon.

Of all the inane, useless things to drag her out of her study for, they do it to ‘check their wands are working’? Of course hers worked; she’d set the pimply peasant who tormented her Luna on fire this morning. And hexed the stupid peasant who had the audacity to slap her ass as he went past. And sliced open the cheek of one of the Hufflepuff’s who tried to hex her in ‘revenge’ for ‘usurping the glory of Cedric Diggory’ ( _prettyreddeliciousredbleedpeasants)._

Clearly, the others felt the same, Cedric hiding away his ambition and becoming a smiling and loveable buffoon ( _falsemaskdisgustedannoyed)_ , Viktor being all surly and broody, Fleur looking like someone had just shoved a week old fish under her nose. And why wouldn’t she?

Skeeter had remarked upon her Veela grandmother the instant Fleur’s interview had started. Fleur was not impressed. Also, there was no French or…Eastern European newspaper (wherever Durmstrang was) in attendance, which meant that the only source of information would be from the _British._ And that rankled the Frenchwoman’s patriotism more than anything.

Cedric, after explaining in hushed whispers beforehand about how telling people about your wand was an insight to the deeper parts of your character, and how it was considered a social suicide to even _think_ about asking someone about the composition of their wand, had made a crack during his interview about wand care, and how he’d ‘ _polished it last night’_ , which had Viktor turning away to hide a grin, and Fleur rolling her eyes. The adults hadn’t even picked up on it.

Then the creepy wand peasant had made a disparaging comment about the wandmaker who’d made Viktor’s wand being inferior and ‘weaker’, and Viktor had scowled, and refused to answer any questions from Skeeter.

Then it was Belladonna’s turn, and she wanted to kill someone when the creepy wand peasant ran his fingers lightly along the stick, almost caressing it. She felt mildly sick, for a moment, before she squashed it down. She’d have to talk to Aunt Narcissa about it later.

.

“Hmm, 13 inches…I do not recognise this wood.” The creepy wand peasant said abruptly. “Nor do I recognise the core. In all my years, there has never been a material I could not name, and yet, Ms Potter, you have both wood and core that is unfamiliar. The wood is strong and unyielding like oak, but with the bitterness of ash, and the growth of aspen. The core reminds me of a griffin feather, but that is also not correct, and the core holds a strange resonance with your own magic. Please, tell me what they are.”

“Of course.” Belladonna purred, an unpleasant smile gracing her face, promising pain. “The wood is imported. One of the Blacks was a traveller, and went as far as New Zealand with the colonisers. The Maori could see that he was similar to one of their ‘ _Makutu_ ’, and gifted him with a wand in return for healing their children of pox. The name of the wood is Kauri, and the wizards who wield it are known for their unyielding character and proclivity towards nature magic.” And being experts in Dark Arts, along with being powerful and immovable.

“Fascinating.” The creepy wand peasant breathed, running his fingers along the honey-coloured wood. Belladonna shivered ( _disgustingdespicableDIE)._ “The colours are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. And the core?”

Belladonna hesitated, and took a step forward to murmur lowly.

“An ancient beast, now extinct, but once roamed the lands, called _Pouakai_. The stories that the Maori passed down spoke of it carrying off hunters and the large birds that roamed the lands, called _moa_. There are rumours, however, that the New Zealand Academy of Sorcery use them for transport.”

“And the strange resonance it has?”

“The feather was soaked in his blood during the new moon.” Belladonna gave him a sharp smile. “I trust that I will not need to bind you to secrecy over this, Master Ollivander? We both know the repercussions of owning a wand like this.”

“Indeed, Heiress Potter. Indeed. And, if it is not too presumptuous of me, may I enquire as to how you came across such a fine specimen of superb craftsmanship?”

“Of course.” Belladonna gave a sharp laugh ( _ushishishi)_. “It poked me in the eye while I was visiting the Black ancestral vault with Lady Malfoy, after I tried to pick up a mahogany-thestral hair combination. It took exception.”

“And the reason you did not come to my shop for your first wand?” He sounded, dare she say it, offended. Of course, having the ‘Girl-Who-Lived’ not buying from Ollivander’s may have been bad for business, or even just reputation ( _fakeliesfavour)_. She shrugged.

“My magic would have rejected any wand you would sell. It was…is…extremely picky. With three Houses to inherit, any wand that was not already blood bonded would have been incinerated.” Lies. Aunt Narcissa had warned her that Ollivanders had The Trace on every wand, and that many of them were inferior to the standard of six hundred years ago. Thus, a trip to the Black Vault to pick up a blood-bonded wand ( _donottouchmineMINE)._

“Fascinating.” The creepy wand peasant murmured, handing her wand back. “Everything is in order! A truly remarkable wand, Ms Potter. A rare find indeed. Would you be amenable to a later meeting, to further discuss the properties?”

And Belladonna pegged him as the raven caste instantly. His eyes held the same gleam that her Luna did when faced with a new and exciting challenge, or when something was mentioned that she didn’t know about. But this was almost…obsessive. _Dangerous._

“If Master Ollivander does not mind me invading his shop during the holidays.” She replied, and peasant beamed ( _come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly)_ as she resisted the urge to vomit as he stroked the wand once more.

“Splendid! I look forward to it!”

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“Ms Potter! May I have a quick word?” Skeeter ( _beetleinsectskittersquash)_ interrupted the small moment, and Belladonna resisted the urge to scowl at the beetle peasant.

“Something tells me you’re going to get one anyway.” She muttered under her breath. The beetle peasant gave her a smirk, and dragged her over into a corner, away from everyone. Belladonna tried to catch the eye of the cat professor, but she was unfortunately tied up in a conversation with Madame Maxine. She didn’t trust the Headmaster as far as she could throw him (and oh how she longed to test how far that was. Off the Astronomy Tower), and…blast, she was stuck with the beetle peasant for the time being.

The beetle peasant pulled out a strange, lime green quill that matched the shade of her jacket perfectly, and a scroll of parchment.

“I hope you don’t mind if I use a Quik-Quotes Quill, Bella dear. Do you mind if I call you Bella? Perfect, I’m sure we’re going to be great friends.”

“I do mind, please find another quill to use, I will not consent without my Head of House present, no, you may not call me Bella, and I sincerely doubt that, Ms Skeeter.” Belladonna replied, but the beetle peasant seemed to ignore her, fishing around in her handbag (a rather distasteful crocodile number) for a moment, before pulling out her wand, tapping it to the parchment, and then the quill, both of which seemed to spring to life and hovering expectantly in the air. Skeeter beamed.

“We may begin!”

Belladonna eyed the quill as it started to scribble on its own. Far too long to transcribe those three words ( _suspicionsilencewarning)_.

“Why did you enter the Tournament, Bella?”

“That’s Ms Potter to you, Ms Skeeter. Or Heiress Potter.” Belladonna corrected. “I was led to believe that this was a formal interview; you would do well to act like it.”

“Details, darling, details! Not important in the grand scheme of things, yes? Was it for the fame? The fortune? The recognition from your classmates?” Skeeter leaned in, and whispered conspiringly. “Is there a handsome wizard who has caught the eyes of our saviour?”

“I did not enter.” Belladonna managed to get out in her disbelief. Skeeter had even considered the notion that she had entered the Tournament to get _a boy’s attention?_ She despaired over the loss of the brain cells of the collective Wizarding World for a moment, before giving the quill another long look.

“Did you honestly think that you had a chance to beat the other contenders?” The beetle peasant asked ( _condescendingrudeDIE)._

“Cedric Diggory is far more qualified to participate than I am.” Belladonna replied, eyebrow raised. “Which was why he was chosen, I believe.”

She narrowed her eyes as the quill kept scribbling, and leaned forward to see the parchment. Viktor had warned her about some Quik-Quotes-Quills, how some reporters modified the charms to exaggerate what was said, and it seemed like Skeeter was one of them, if the previous comment was anything to go by…

.

… _a small waif who appears to be out of her league, and a little naïve in the ways of the world._

_“I didn’t think that I would be chosen; it was a long shot that the Goblet would select me, especially when there are so many strong, handsome, pure-blooded heirs at Hogwarts…_

_._

How _dare_ she? ( _rageangerHATE)_

“Quote correctly, Ms Skeeter.” Belladonna uttered lowly. “Else you might find yourself at the wrong end of a wand.”

The bug peasant simply laughed, condescending.

“Aren’t you just adorable? Now, what would you think your parent’s would say about this if they were alive?”

“Considering my only memory of them is of their death, I can’t give an accurate answer to that question.” Belladonna remarked, voice dry.

.

.

… _the young heiress looks lost, and very delicate, large doe-like eyes filling with tears at the memory of her parent’s death._

_“I didn’t mean to squander their sacrifice, but I was desperate to be recognized by my peers…_

_._

_._

The camera that had been snapping pictures quietly (not quite enough to escape her hearing, peasants) melted, and Belladonna smirked as the quill burst into flame. Rita screeched as the quill set the parchment on fire, rapidly consuming it, and turned to glare at Belladonna, who gave her saccharine smile.

.

.

“Oops.”

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.

.

.

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**Omake**

Fay was thirteen when she escaped Hell and made her way across mid-winter Scotland, thirteen when she left behind the ‘safety’ and warmth of Hogwarts and ventured out into the frozen wasteland known as the Scottish Highlands ( _coldcoldfrozen)._ The food that she smuggled from the kitchen lasted three days with careful rationing, and by then she was far, far away from civilization. She relied heavily on _Incendio_ to keep her warm, and when the fire was not practical, bluebell flames lit her way, caught in a jar that had held water and flickering with purple ever so slightly. The days blurred together; she was sure that there was a very helpful Cornish pixie on day six that directed her through a valley, and willow-the-wisps lighting her way on the eighth day, but it was not until she saw the lights of a small town that she allowed herself to sleep in an alleyway, tucked behind a dumpster with her mother’s quilt wrapped around her, her cloak long lost in the hills.

She knew that she needed to survive, to get out of the hellhole and into the real world, so that when her Belladonna needed to escape, Fay had already established safehouses and routes and places where the Headmaster couldn’t get to them. But to do that, she needed help from her father’s family, and pinning them down was harder than the oaf’s rock cakes.

She stole money in the morning, and played on the sympathies of the old woman whose dumpster she had taken refuge behind. The woman did her one better, plied her with tea, placed her in front of her fire in her grandsons clothes while her own were in the dryer, and gave her the phone and called the emergency number that Fay’s parents had drilled into her head when she was old enough to know numbers, her own hands shaking far too much to work the buttons.

It had gone to dial tone.

Then the men in black robes had come, a silver ‘x’ embroidered on the breast, and they had chased her from the old lady, chased her from Speybridge to Nairn, Cawdor, Dalcross. She’d lost them in Inverness, assimilating into the homeless community with frightening ease, and had managed to hide there long enough to try dialling the number again, once again getting the dial tone, and she almost threw the cellphone off the roof in frustration, until a shout caught her attention, and she was running again, up to Cromarty and then doubling back to Tore, hiding on a bus to Dingwall, then stealing a horse (she’d left a pitiful note, with a promise to return the horse later) to ride up to Loch Glass, before abandoning it at Wyvis Lodge, and continuing on foot, dodging a kelpie and a leviathan within days of each other. But she couldn’t hold out forever. They had caught her in the forestry just outside of Dalnessie, Fay’s clothes torn to shreds, fingers and toes numb with cold, magic all but spent, stomach shrunk to the size of a peanut and growling like a feral dog as they encircled her, pulling something out of their cloaks that had made her flinch. _Wands._

“We are the Abominations of Christ, sent to Earth to eradicate the evil. For thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” One intoned, and Fay was able to place them with ease: Delta X. The Witch-Hunters. The _Muggle-born_ witch-hunters who had rejected the Wizarding World, and killed any witch or wizard that attempted to rejoin the Muggle World, or even ventured too far out of the enclaves.

“ _Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus.”_ The others had chanted, lighting their wand tips with red.

“Gloria Patri, et filio, et spiritui sancto…”

“ _In saecula saeculorum.”_

The leader had stepped forward, and had levelled his wand at Fay’s heart, the tip glowing an acid green. ‘ _I’m going to die.’_ Fay thought.

“Dominus vobiscum et cum spiritu tuo. Ite, missa est.”

. _‘I’m going to die.’_

.

‘ _But I don’t want to.’_

The purple had taken over, and she only remembered snatches of what happened, only that when she was about to be overwhelmed, a shadowy blur dropped down from the trees, lightning wreathing their body and the two _sai_ they held, and they exploded into action, moving faster than Fay could keep up. The last man had fallen with a gurgle, and the figure had stood tall, silhouette blurred in the gathering dusk, the green electricity snapping over the two metal _sai_ , and they had turned around, giving Fay the first glimpse of their face, and she had had crumpled in relief as she recognized who it was.

.

Cousin Vespasian Prince.

.

It was Vespasian who had dragged her into a safehouse, given her clothes, plied her with soup and food, healed the frostbite and the wounds, whispering soothing words as she cried and raged ( _wherewereyou?)_ , held her when she inevitably collapsed from exhaustion and tucked her into bed (no one had done that in years), and whispered the words that cemented that she was _safe_.

“I’ll take first watch.”

.

She’d slept for four days. Vespasian had woken her intermittently to force soup down her throat and to give her water to stay hydrated, assisted her to the bathroom, and had even drawn a bath and had made sure that she didn’t drown. She hadn’t remembered most of it, but her cousin was a steady presence at her side ( _rockfoundationsolidstrength)_.

And on the fifth day, she had risen, fire in her eyes and acid on her tongue, and collared Vespasian.

“My memories. What’s wrong with them?” She had flinched when Vespasian _growled._

“What do you mean, ‘ _what’s wrong with them’?”_

“They do not match up with the journal I made. Mother told me to keep one, and hide it. When I left Hogwarts, the journal was the first thing I packed.”

And that had been the first indicator that something was foul in Hogwarts, beyond the fact that Belladonna Potter was _wrong._ Like Fay, her Belladonna didn’t _belong_ in Hogwarts, nor even the magical world. The second had been when her movements and her mind had become sluggish, slow and complacent, content to ignore the gaping holes in Hogwarts.

Whatever she had expected, hearing Vespasian swear at length, before pulling out a cellphone, punching the buttons aggressively and standing in front of her with a thunderous look on his face. There was a click, and a cheery voice had greeted them, before Vespasian had cut across.

“Who’s in charge of Medical?” There had been a sharp answer, and her cousin had sighed.

“Fay Dunbar. Tampered memories, malnutrition, and exhaustion. We’ll be there by tomorrow.” He’d hung up, and turned to Fay, face reassuring.

“We’ll fix this, I promise.”

.

And that was why Vespasian was her favourite cousin.

.

Vespasian had first taken her to Huntly, to meet the elusive Cousin Severus, hidden in an underground laboratory above a bakery ( _good scones,_ Vespasian had informed her cheerfully, _but don’t touch the date slice. That’s for Mrs Chatterley, the Hag)_ , Cousin Severus being a beanpole of a man with long black hair and a black market potions brewer. He was also blind ( _a triple agent, they called me,_ he had laughed bitterly, _a traitor. And for that, I paid the price. The Light took my left eye, the Dark my right)_. It was he who had spent hours inside her head with her, picking out the suppressed memories and eradicating the false ones, and more shoving potions down her throat to correct the malnutrition, the frostbite, the scars, and the small fever she had picked up. It had been Cousin Severus who had taught her more about Potions and Spellcrafting in three weeks than she had ever learned at Hogwarts in three years, before finally declaring that she was ready to journey up to The Seat of the Ancestors at the tip of Scotland, near Kearvaig.

“Is there anything else you need?” Severus had asked, moments before their illegal portkey was scheduled to leave ( _the Ministry likes to monitor these,_ he had winked, _but if you know how the spell, and know where you want to go…)_. Vespasian had shaken his head, and thanked Cousin Severus for his help ( _see you at the Gathering this summer, don’t be a stranger)_ , but Fay had halted them.

“What do you know about purple flames?”

“Bluebell flames with a purple undertone? An Incendio coming out purple?” Severus had asked, and Fay shook her head, realized that he couldn’t see it, and verbalized her answer.

“No. They are…not magical in nature, and normally come out under duress or in times of excessive stress.”

“Oh?” Severus’ lips had twisted into a grin, the scars pulling his face in weird directions and distorting his face. “You mean these?” He clicked his fingers, and Fay had stared.

There, hovering above her cousin’s fingers, were deep indigo flames.

Then the Portkey had dragged them away.

.

.

And thus began her introduction into the Snape-Prince family business; brewing alcohol and killing criminals.

.

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Fay was fourteen when she felt ‘The Itch’. She had tried to pay attention in lessons, but something kept nagging her, pressuring her to leave, to find _home (_ because Kearvaig, the Seat of her Ancestors, no longer felt like it). It had been Cousin Septimius who had explained the concept of Resonance to her, Soul Spectrums and the like, and had told her that her particular attribute resonated strongly with things she deemed ‘ _hers’_ ( _Belladonna, Theo, Luna)_. But she couldn’t go back to Hell, not when she’d almost died getting out. But she wasn’t able to stay at The Seat, either; there had been gossip from those closest to her age about her bloodlust ( _riptearkillSLAUGHTER)_ , her temper ( _firewrathrage)_ , how many missions she’d been sent on already to attempt to curb it, and how each and every mission she came back from had only made her tetchy, fidgety, _eager for_ more. It had been Cousin Aerona who had finally sat her down and explained that she could no longer stay; that her position in the family was becoming precarious, that she was a rare Soul Aspect ( _prettypurplepossessiveMINE)_ and that either families were simply not equipped to deal with her burgeoning instincts. Fay thought back to the time she had punched Cousin Tyler for touching her bed, stabbed Aunt Callisto for picking up her clothes, and screamed at Uncle Claudius for confiscating her hand axes, and had agreed. From there, Heir Aurelius Prince had ‘formally’ sent her on a long term undercover mission, giving her supplies and a way out of the country. In return, Fay had asked her family to keep an eye out for her Belladonna, her Theo and her Luna, before she was sent off to Italy ( _languagecrammedbrainhurts)_ for her assigned mission.

.

Infiltrate the Independent Assassination Squad, Codename: VARIA.

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.

It took weeks to track down the Varia, but she got lucky by watching the CEDEF (her Uncle Aurelius having a contact waiting for her at the airport), and spotting one in uniform, too cocky to notice that he was being followed. When she arrived at the front gates, however, she was detained by more competent goons, and led into the grand entrance hall, her purple flames doing wonders to convince them not to kill her. Apparently, they were dead rare.

Then the blonde with glasses came ( _slimeoozeyickfalse)_ , stared, and said “We’re not hiring sluts.”

.

He had it coming.

.

He only had himself to blame.

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She Increased her speed, Increased the sharpness and strength of her fingernails and her wrists, and jabbed at his neck, just like Cousin Domhnall had shown her ( _speed gives you momentum,_ he had explained, _which you need to get power behind your strikes, since you have yet to grow)_. The force crushed the trachea upon impact, before her fingernails sliced into the delicate skin of his throat and followed through, the speed and momentum allowing her to slice through the spinal cord with minimal effort. Blood had coated her hands and forearm and splattered across her face, and she had laughed in delight. Was this what her Belladonna had felt every time she consulted the Oracle? The delicious rush of knowing that you had complete control over whether something lived or died, the feeling of blood spattering across skin, still warm from pumping life around a body, the tang of iron filling her olfactory system, the taste of Death rich upon her tongue?

.

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It was sheer, undulated ecstasy.

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A shout had broken her out of her rapture, and she turned to face the staircase where a silver-haired man was waving a sword about. She had smiled at him, blood staining her teeth, and he had fallen silent at the sight of the slimy glasses guy’s head in her hands.

“Hi!” She had greeted cheerfully, as she held up the head to show the swordsman. “I heard you had a vacancy.”

There had been laughter from a pine-haired man, echoed by another with red eyes ( _redwrathrageangerwarmth)_ and feathers in his hair. Something in the second man had reminded her of her Belladonna, so she had reached out...

Warmth had flooded her system, swift and sudden, as the red-eyes man had stopped laughing and stared at her, his gaze intense, the dark red fire ( _warmthsafetyprotectionwrath)_ had wrapped around her, silencing the Itch, and she was _home._

“Your name.” He had demanded.

“Fay, of House Prince.” She had replied. The man had shaken his head, and stalked down the stairs, graceful and deadly, and Fay’s breath had failed her as he stood before her, beautiful flames flickering in his wake, shoulders broad and stance strong, the promise of blood and death in his eyes.

“An acceptable name for an exquisite Cloud.” He had purred, and her heart had stuttered. “You can do better. A name to terrify the masses, cloudling.”

And Fay, whom had grown up with the horror tales her grandmothers and aunts had told her, who had survived the Hell that was Hogwarts and the Cairngorm’s in the height of winter, basking in the heat and bloodlust that the man exuded, gave him a razor smile.

.

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“My name is _Slaugh_.”*

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *- A name given to a group of very dangerous spirits from the highlands. They were known as the unforgiven dead. They were always malevolent and sometimes thought to be fallen angels.


	9. Perchance to Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> ‘…to sleep, perchance to dream…’ Hamlet, William Shakespeare  
> .  
> .  
> “Deadwood”, Really Slow Motion  
> .

“Dragons.” Viktor slammed a thick, leather bound book on to their designated study table, a thick cloud of dust rising from the cover, their previous notes scattering on to the floor. Cedric swore. Fleur set some notes on fire, and Belladonna slammed a knife into the table.

“The peasants shall _die._ ”

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.

Belladonna couldn’t help it. She _cooed_ at the miniature dragon, even as it puffed a plume of fire and then proceeded to gnaw on her finger.

“It’s adorable!” Beside her, Fleur was gently stroking the miniature Chinese Fireball that had wound its way around her forearm, the Fireball letting out little puffs of smoke as it purred, while the males in the tent were torn between horror (the fat peasant and the crouching peasant), amusement (Viktor) and mild trepidation (Cedric). Ah, yes, they would be facing the grown versions of these, wouldn’t they? At least she wasn’t going first (poor, _poor_ Cedric). She wasn’t too concerned about facing the Horntail, however, no matter how aggressive and deadly it was rumoured to be.

Fire will call to Fire.

.

.

She had never heard a dragon speak, and she never wanted to again ( _painloudtooloudANGER)_. Her nose had started bleeding the instant the dragon had roared, the words slamming into her head with all the force of the Express, vastly different to the boa constrictor at the zoo ( _we be of one blood, you and I,_ it had crooned), and then the Basilisk in second year ( _no matter how many skins I shed, I am still a snake,_ it had droned), and the apparition ( _we are not so different, you and I,_ he had purred). She had resisted the urge to scream, the pain was so intense, and it was only her ducking behind a rock that had saved her from the fiery blast ( _rageheatWRATH)_. Dimly, she could hear the jeering and booing from the crowd, a few shouts of ‘ _coward’_ drifting down from the stands, and that made her blood _boil_ ( _weakpatheticcowardsDIE)_. As if they wouldn’t be wetting themselves the second they stepped foot into the arena. The rock pressed against her back heated up, and flames licked overhead as the dragon blasted the rock, screaming the whole time ( _lieswrongeggnest?mate?lonelyhatehateHATE)_. Belladonna had cried out then, iron trickling into her mouth, and clapped her hands over her ears ( _agonypainloudtooloud)_ as the dragon continued to blast fire at the rock, the chain clanking as it jerked to get free. Her hand fell to the knife strapped to her thigh (and hadn’t that freaked out the snivelling peasants), the elaborately carved dragon hilt reminding her that _home_ still waited for her, she had to survive (it had been a gift, from someone, but she couldn’t remember who). Her original plan had been reliant on the dragon being somewhat coherent, but judging from the few words she could pick out in Parseltongue, it was hysterical and probably couldn’t be reasoned with. She needed to shock it, and shock it well (she couldn’t use her usual method of slapping the face, after all). She might have to scream back, using the strongest amplifying charm Fleur had taught them (and practise had been fun, hollering messages across the Quidditch pitch).

.

The rock exploded, and Belladonna was sent flying backwards, the wind knocked out of her as she slammed into another boulder, an expletive wheezing out her mouth as she slid down. She looked up, and her eyes clashed with the dragons. The dragon growled, and lunged forward, the chain stopping its momentum with a harsh jerk.

[ _Liars! Thieves! Murderers!]_ The dragon screamed, eyeing Belladonna as if she was about to be the dragons next tasty snack ( _barbequedfriedflambéed),_ and a realization smacked her in the face.

She was going to die in this arena.

.

“I’m going to die.” She whispered, the spoken words having a strange sort of finality behind them.

She was going to die.

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[ _Foolish! Burn! Eat! Punishment!]_ The dragon snapped at her, the chain creaking in place, barely holding it back.

.

She was going to die.

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She thought of her Theo, her Luna, stuck in this godforsaken hellhole. She thought of the kind wolf professor, and the sad black dog that was his companion, still on the run, of Fay, Morgana knows where. She thought of the feeling of _home (wrathfireprotection)_ , of the yellow sun, the blue of rain, and the deep indigo mist.

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She was going to die.

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She thought of the strange Muggles she had snuck away to visit during the summer after one of them had stopped her on the street and asked why she didn’t visit, then introducing themselves when she said that she had forgotten them, forgotten things she never wanted to forget. Of their bright hair colours and dark leather clothes, piercings and spikes and earrings and motorbikes. Of the sense of camaraderie she had felt in their midst, the friendly back slaps and the fast rides on a motorbike through the city and out into the country, wind whipping her hair as she laughed.

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She was going to die.

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She stood up, clutching her ribs, and closed her eyes as the dragon’s neck contracted and convulsed, the glowing embers of fire visible through the scales.

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She was going to die.

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[ _BURN!]_ The Horntail screeched as it opened its maw, the fire spewing out in an unstoppable torrent directly towards her.

.

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She opened her arms, as if to embrace the flames.

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Someone screamed.

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She smiled.

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_She was going to die._

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The fire engulfed her.

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And thus, Belladonna Vulpecula Potter-Black-Peverell, perished in the First Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, incinerated by dragon fire.

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Up in the stands, Theodore Nott sat as though he were a statue, face devoid of colour. Beside him, Luna Lovegood stared into the arena, tears trickling down her face, equally pale and still.

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In the tent, Fleur gasped and collapsed onto the grassy ground, eyes wide in disbelief. Cedric was catatonic, and Viktor was in shock, mouth open and staring blankly into space.

.

.

But there was nothing to be done. Belladonna Potter was dead.

No one, not even the powerful Heiress of three Ancient Houses, could survive dragon fire.

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The flames thrashed and where Belladonna Potter had once stood, turned a dark crimson, as if the Heiress’ magic was being eaten away, and the spectators all leaned forwards in morbid fascination to gaze upon the charred remains of their Saviour. The red grew, and spread. The dragon shut its jaws, yet the fire continued to burn, as if feasting on the flesh of the youngest Champion. The flames turned completely red, and darkened to deep crimson, moving in a way that was…not flame-like.

.

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The flames split.

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[ _That’s my line, you pathetic excuse for a fire breather]_ Belladonna hissed, and she crossed her arms, before flinging them out, the fire following the motion and exploding against the suddenly-visible transparent shields protecting the spectators from the dragon fire. She opened her mouth, and screamed a wordless war cry that sent shivers down the spines of everyone who heard it, hair long escaped from her braid and flying about in riotous curls.

.

The crowd, and the dragon, roared, and Belladonna gave the dragon a feral grin ( _BlacksmileBlackmadness)_ , condensing the flames into two fiery whips.

[ _Let us see whose fire is hotter_.]

She lashed the whips, and lunged forward.

[ _BURN!]_

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“Imbecile!” Fleur slapped her across the face, before drawing her into a tight hug, Belladonna suffocating slightly as her face was pushed into the Frenchwoman’s rather ample bosom. Muscular arms wrapped around her shoulders ( _earthyleatherViktor)_ and wiry ones around her waist ( _sunshinecinnamonCedric)_ , all squeezing her too tight. There is a sudden coolness spreading across her cheeks, and Belladonna realized that the French Champion was crying ( _saltstingrelief)_.

“I’m fine.” She mumbled, voice muffled, and Fleur drew back, disbelief etched across her face. Wisely, Viktor and Cedric took a few steps back, and the nurse peasant re-exited the tent.

“Fine? _Fine!? Mon dieu, Belladonna, tu…”_

“Fleur.” Belladonna stopped her with a hand. “Please refrain from shouting. I have a splitting migraine.”

Fleur took a few deep breaths, before she turned around and punched Viktor on the arm. At his offended and confused look, she snorted.

“You can take eet. Belladonna would stab me.”

“True.” Viktor conceded, rubbing his arm.

“How did you do it?” Cedric burst out. “How did you survive the dragon’s fire?”

Belladonna stared at the walls of the tent, eyes faraway, letting her mind drift into the memory, echoing the same words she had said, long ago.

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“ _With my Dying Will.”_

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“Iwaswonderingifyouwouldgototheballwithme?”

Belladonna stared at the brash weasel peasant, eyes narrowed.

“What?”

Of all the things the Oracle had warned her about, teenage hormones was not one of them. Nor the lack of logic and the abandonment of all rationality when her peers were faced with the prospect of _dances_ and _dates_. Oh, she wished that she had been more specific this morning when she had slaughtered an Acromantula. Perhaps it was because it had so many legs, to be interpreted as many possibilities, or many things to be warned of. Whatever the case, it had put her in a rotten mood for the rest of the day, and the sudden influx of _idiot peasants_ asking for her hand, as if she were a common country wench, was not helping matters.

“Will you go to the Ball with me, Potter?” She stared down the brash weasel peasant ( _snakepredatorkiller)_ , and raised an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“It’s not like anyone else will ask you, and it would just be sad for a girl to go the ball alone.” And there was the chronic foot-in-mouth disease that seemed to have infected her male peerage of late. _Sweet burning hellfire_ , they were all _troglodytes._ She gave him a razor smile, sharp enough to draw blood, and relaxed her shoulders ( _nonthreateningfalsedeciet)_.

“I have a secret to tell you.” Belladonna purred, gesturing for the brash red peasant to come her way, his face now matching his hair. “Come closer.” She insisted, seeing the weasel stop a good three feet away. She closed the distance between them, leaning in to whisper into his ear. The red weasel peasant looked as though he couldn’t decide whether to faint in fear or excitement at how close she was.

.

“ _I DON’T DANCE WITH PEASANTS!”_

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The weasel peasant fainted, and Belladonna laughed as she used his body as a stepping stone to make her way over to Theo, who was leaning against the wall, a smirk playing across his lips.

“Was that really necessary? Weasley wet himself.” Belladonna glanced at the prone form of the weak peasant, and curled her lip in disgust at the wet patch now visible on the peasant’s trousers, hoping that it didn’t get on her shoes.

“Despicable peasant.” She turned back to Theo, a wicked grin splitting her lips. “ _Ushishishi,_ it was fun, though.”

“That was the twenty-sixth offer.” Luna commented. “Yet you still don’t have the required date to the ball. Professor McGonagall won’t be pleased if you show up alone.”

“You are going with my Theo, Luna dearest.” Belladonna pointed out. “The one male in this castle who is tolerable for long periods of time. I don’t begrudge you that.”

“Has Malfoy asked you?” Theo inquired, eyes narrowed. “He was boasting about it in the common room last night. Something about how he would be the only one you said yes to.”

“The ferret peasant _wishes_ he had the balls to ask me.” Belladonna scoffed. “I have turned down sixteen from Hogwarts, 4 from Durmstrang and 6 from Beauxbatons, and all of them are lacking in both manners and personality. I wish to enjoy myself at this stupid ball, not be miserable. Especially if there is to be no alcohol to make it tolerable.”

Luna snorted, and muttered something under her breath about Professor Trelawney and role models, but Belladonna ignored her. She had no idea where her sudden cravings for alcohol had come from, only that alcohol at a party or a ball was a given, and that people were a lot more fun when drunk ( _morewinetrash)._ Perhaps she would be able to ‘borrow’ some of Professor Trelawney’s stash, and sip on it throughout the evening. Or spike the punch; the Twins might help with that. Then everybody would look like idiots.

Perhaps the only redeeming feature of this ridiculous farce was the gift from Aunt Narcissa (who sadly had an idiot for a son); a dress that matched the colour of the pretty flames that she could wield ( _destructionprettywarm)_. Normally, she would have thought the woman up to something, but the note that had come with it… ‘… _always wanted a daughter to dress up to show up Parkinson…’_ indeed ( _BlacksmirkBlackpride)_.

However, Luna did have a point. If she did not find a date soon, the cat professor would get mad at her, she would look like a fool (but a beautiful fool) and she would be laughed at. The brash weasel peasant’s words did have some merit. If she continued to turn down the peasants, then perhaps the royalty would not bother to ask her. Then she would be alone, dateless, and a laughing stock. And that irritated her beyond all belief.

.

What was the point of knowing how to dance if you had no one to dance with?

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.

.

Belladonna felt as though she had stepped out of Hell and into Purgatory. There was no other explanation for…this _monstrosity._ The Great Hall was obviously set to an icy theme, but it was so _hideous (gaudyfakeshiny)_. Belladonna, with her deep crimson dress, mused that she’d look like a drop of blood on snow on the white floor. A puddle, perhaps, growing underneath a mortally wounded enemy, preferably the Headmaster. Satisfied with this image, she glided alongside her date, Constantine Prince ( _royaltyemperorpower)_ , the 6th year aesthetically pleasing in robes of ice blue and even icier blue eyes that gazed disdainfully around at the sickening array of pastel robes.

“I may vomit.” He whispered in her ear, discreetly pointing out a hot pink dress paired with puce-coloured robes.

“It would probably blend in.” She conspired, and Constantine snorted quietly.

“Might even be an improvement.” They exchanged a quick, sly smirk, before facing forward as the cat professor asked them to line up, Belladonna ignoring the confused look her Head of House gave her when she spotted her date. The others had even looked confused; the 6th year from the eagle caste had not even looked her way, until he had formally requested a meeting ( _propermannersgoodmanners)_ in writing, chaperoned by her Luna and his older twin brother, Valentinian ( _properconduct)_. During said meeting, he had proposed that they attend the ball as an alliance of some sorts between House Prince and House Black, the two being allies for centuries. She gained a dance partner who wouldn’t expect anything afterwards or any sort of recognition, he would not be harassed by all the ‘eligible’ pureblooded heiress that had their sights set on him. Dance lessons to make sure that they wouldn’t make fools out of each other and, by extension, their Houses, as well as to discern that they were compatible as partners. It was during these such lessons (chaperoned by the runes professor and the starry professor) that Belladonna learned a fascinating titbit about her ‘date’; he held a disdain for the castle and its occupants to rival her own, and possessed an equally sharp tongue.

It was a match made in Heaven (those on the receiving ends of their comments would say Hell). Belladonna knew that she would have so much more fun with someone to make disparaging comments with, rather than resisting the urge to incinerate someone with wandering hands, like that thrice-cursed handsy peasant, McLaggen.

.

“Come, my Lady.” Constantine murmured in her ear. “The snivelling masses await to look upon your glory and weep in envy.”

“Such sweet words, Constantine.” Belladonna purred. “You know exactly what a girl wants to hear.”

“I speak nothing but the truth.” Constantine reposed, a teasing glint in his eye. Belladonna inwardly sighed in happiness. The night ahead did not seem as tedious as before.

.

She took it back. Every single word.

After the airy, light waltz that left her almost breathless in awe ( _floatingtwirlingroyalty)_ as her magic revelled in the music, her partner, the dance…some ‘popular wizarding band’ had replaced the orchestra and started assaulting her eardrums with some mockery of music. It was despicable in every sense of the word; from the puerile lyrics to the simplified chord progressions. “ _Do the Hippogriff”?_ Really, how vulgar. Hellfire, even _Luna_ , who only knew a smattering of notes on the piano, could have done better. Her date had temporarily abandoned her to source some alcohol from the house elves ( _staffservantsefficient)_ in order to get them through the evening ( _normally I wouldn’t give alcohol to a minor,_ he’d explained, rueful, _but tonight is an exception)_ , and she was standing with her Fleur, Gabrielle not permitted to attend tonight’s ball.

“Such terrible music. Unacceptable for dancing.” Fleur hissed, eyes going a little yellow. Belladonna rolled her eyes.

“It’s the British Enclaves; good taste in music is rare to find. Although,’ she eyed the abandoned orchestral instruments, ‘I’m sure something else could be arranged.”

“Gut.” Krum interrupted their conversation, his date a pleasant Hufflepuff by the name of Susan Bones. “Ve, at Durmstrang, dance correctly. Not…dat.” He gestured to the heaving mass of bodies that were in front of the stage, and Belladonna could pick out a few of her housemates snogging in the middle of the crush, sniffing in disdain at the display.

“So uncouth.”

“I do not think I have ever been ashamed of attending Hogwarts, and yet…” the bones peasant gestured to the band, face twisted into a grimace. “The Headmaster could at least _pretend_ that he’s not enjoying spitting on tradition.”

“Perhaps you could transfer to Durmstrang, _da?_ ” Viktor looked slightly hopeful, and the bones peasant looked thoughtful. Belladonna exchanged a wry glance with Fleur, Cedric and his date Cho out in the gardens for a ‘moonlit stroll’. It was amusing, really, that Viktor was so besotted with the bones peasant to the point that he was asking her to transfer.

“My Aunt couldn’t say that I would be lessening my education.” The bones peasant mused.

“Some libations for the fair Lady.” Constantine produced a champagne glass with a flourish as he appeared at her side, the dark red liquid swirling inside definitely not champagne, or even grape juice. Fleur stared at it hungrily.

“ _Vin._ ” She breathed. “Where did ‘ou get eet from?”

“Borrowed it from my uncle’s cellar.” Constantine took a sip, and a pleased grin broke out across his face. “An excellent choice. Uncle Seren’s ‘ _Midnight Merlot’_. He’s always had a talent for reds.”

Belladonna took a cautious sip, and closed her eyes in order to savour the taste ( _smoothfullbodiedfloraloakyfinish)_. Seeing Fleur’s pleading look, Belladonna handed her the glass. The Frenchwoman took a sip, and moaned.

“ _Superbe!_ ”

Belladonna hid a flinch as her head ached ( _VOISHITTYPRINCE!)_ , obviously not well enough, as Constantine placed another glass in her hand, Fleur still in raptures over one tiny sip, then let a reassuring hand on her shoulder, a cool pulse radiating from where his fingers brushed her neck and soothing the migraine that threatened to crop up. She gave his fingers a grateful brush of her own, allowing him to keep his hand there.

“Marry me.” Fleur breathed, her own date looking a little disgruntled at the lack of attention.

“I’m afraid that I am spoken for, Ms Delacour. My Uncle Aurelius will be arranging my marriage, as per the agreement between my mother and him.”

“Because you are fifth in line.” Belladonna clarified, and he nodded.

“I do not have as much leniency as say, my Cousin Septimius, who is the second son of a third daughter, or even Luna, who is the first daughter of a fourth son.”

“Eet sounds compleecated.” Fleur waved a hand, taking another sip of her wine. “But enough. Marriage ees…depressing.”

“Amen.” The bones peasant saluted Fleur with her own wine glass, and cast her gaze back to the writhing crowd that occupied the dance floor. From their position by the doorway, Belladonna eyed the swirl of pastels and colours.

“It looks as though someone vomited rainbows onto the floor.” She commented.

“More like those Muggle sweets, what are they? M and M’s? After they’ve been half-digested.” Constantine corrected, and Belladonna smirked at him.

“Very accurate.”

“You two are weird.” The bones peasant shook her head. “But oddly enough, well suited.”

“Thank you, Heiress Bones, for your observation.” Constantine bowed in her direction, before turning an eye to the abandoned instruments. “It might work better if we had someone lead the orchestra. I can enchant the instruments, but whether it will hold for long enough…”

“A conductor.” Viktor perked up, eyes darting across the room. “I know just de person.”

.

Belladonna spun around the room once more, a sharp smile gracing her lips as the skeleton orchestra played a spirited waltz, Professor Liert using his wand to conduct the dead, the short professor and Monsieur Delacroix focused on keeping the instruments playing. Many Hogwarts students hung back against the walls, while Beauxbatons and Durmstrang filled the dance floor, swirling around each other with ease. She caught the radiant smile on Fleur’s face as she was passed from partner to partner, the part-Veela drunk off wine and pheromones, the flash of Luna’s curls as she and Theo twirled past, Viktor laughing at something the bones peasant said, the starry professor held close to the runes professor, and the sour look upon the Headmaster’s face as the previous band joined in the festivities.

.

It was indeed a good night.

.

.

.

**Omake**

.

Bullets strafed the air, and Lussuria swore as one grazed their leg, before felling the enemy with a shot to the eye. Their third, Yaxkin, threw a grenade down the hall, and the resulting explosion rained plaster down on their heads. Lussuria swore again as shouts sounded, and bullets peppered where Yaxkin had been standing moments before, the Peruvian diving into the small alcove opposite Lussuria.

“We’re locked down here, Boss. Tight security, with three wounded and on their way back. No sign of Goldilocks.” Lussuria smirked at the codename Boss had given Federico Vongola, before frowning. The last son of Vongola had been kidnapped from his residence two weeks ago, at a time when his Rain Guardian, Hamlet, had been half-dead with the flu, and his Storm Guardian, Macbeth, was hunting down a cartel that had dared set foot in an ally’s territory and shot Federico’s oldest friend, Emilio. The CEDEF escort that Timoteo had forced on the blonde were all knocked unconscious instead of killed, and the whole thing reeked of a setup. Everyone in VARIA (barring the stupid CEDEF plants) thought so; once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, thrice is the enemy in action.

“ _Copy that, Lussuria. How many of your squad are left?”_ Lussuria cast their gaze back, and grimaced.

“Five. Lost Utu and Ravi. Yosei, where the hell are you?”

“ _Pinned down on the third floor. No casualties yet, facing two machine guns, maybe two more automatics. Levi, status?”_

No answer came from the Lightning Officer, and Lussuria narrowed their eyes. It had been a mistake to include Levi on this raid and leave the newly christened Slaugh manning comms with Boss (who was not cleared for field), but Slaugh was not yet Quality, only lacking the physical skills to qualify for field missions, as well as the required fluency in five languages, and enough to get by in two (Lussuria was surprised to learn that Slaugh was fluent in Gaelic, Latin, Welsh and German, with a smattering of, oddly enough, Ancient Norse and Ancient Greek, but it wasn’t enough to be Quality). If they were being honest, Lussuria would have preferred Slaugh on this mission to Levi, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Mammon was busy tracking Belphegor, but was having very little success, and the miser had refused to go on any missions until the Storm was found. Yosei, Belphegor’s second, was filling in, but…they weren’t Officer Material. Admin material*, but not Officer.

“ _Lussuria, I need you to neutralize your floor.”_ Lussuria grimaced at the tight tone in their Sky’s voice, and nodded, signalling to Yaxkin to provide cover, before taking off their sunglasses.

“Copy that Boss. Give me five.” Time to remind the scum who exactly they were dealing with.

.

.

“Slaugh.” Her Sky ( _homeprotectionwrathbelonging)_ gestured for her to come closer, and pointed to the monitors. “Do you know what this anomaly is, here on the fourth floor?”

Slaugh shook her head, and her Sky raised an eyebrow.

“I’d be surprised if you did. That indicates that there is a high amount of Sun Flames being produced.”

“Officer Lussuria has decided to stop playing nice, then.” Slaugh replied, deadpan, and her Sky smirked.

“Clever cloudling. The third floor.”

“Administrator Yosei, and possibly the third, Audra. I do not see Officer Levi on here, however, yet he should be on the top floor.”

Her Sky frowned, and eyed the monitors, face pensive.

“Yes, he should.”

Slaugh didn’t like that tone; it indicated that her Sky was expecting to be betrayed at some point, and she didn’t like it. The Wrathful Sky was _hers_ , and she would slaughter anyone who tried to take him away from her. Even if it was her fellow Officer. As her Belladonna had once said, the only good traitor was a dead one.

Beeping from her own monitor drew her attention, and she slammed her headset back on, eyes narrowed. The technology had taken some getting used to, but if she treated it like the Archive Magic her Cousin Declan had, then it was much easier. The screen indicated that a new player had entered the field…from _below_ the cleared floors.

“It appears there is a basement. Administrator Sorin, you had a potential hostile incoming on your ten o’clock.” Slaugh addressed to Officer Lussuria’s second, Sorin.

“ _Copy that, Officer Slaugh. Do you have a Flame reading?”_

Slaugh faltered, and turned to her Sky, who relayed a combination of buttons that she pressed, the screen exploding into colour, the third floor mostly red, the fourth floor containing five spots of yellow, and no signs of green. She looked at the first floor, where the intruder now was. It was a rather delicate shade of orange that fluctuated between blue and red, but it seemed…jagged, and unstable.

“Boss, I’m not sure on this reading.” Her Sky came closer, and narrowed his eyes, before he grabbed his own headset.

“Sorin, head to the first floor and intercept.”

“ _Boss?”_

Xanxus looked tired, and Slaugh wanted nothing more than to give him a hug and wrap him up in a thick blanket and make him sleep.

“I…I think it’s Goldilocks. Lussuria.”

“ _Floor cleared. All silent on the top floor. Will head down to third to assist Yosei.”_

“As soon as the floor is clear, pull out. Squalo, status?”

“ _Voi! Explosives set and ready to go. Janus is en route with the trigger.”_

“Send your squad to help Sorin with the wounded, then escort Goldilocks out of there.”

“ _Copy. VOI! TRASH, GET MOVING!”_

“Don’t shout down the comms, Officer Squalo. Some of us like our hearing intact. Be considerate.” Slaugh snapped, and there was silence for a long while, before Slaugh realized that she, technically, had just told off a senior officer. Before she could apologize, however, there was howling laughter from what sounded like many of the assassins on the raid, Lussuria’s cackle being the most noticeable.

“ _The cloudling has guts!”_

_“Yeah, Officer Squalo! Be considerate!”_

_“Voi, trash, get moving, before I stab you. Slaugh, you are dead.”_

Slaugh flushed, and slid down in her seat, before a dark chuckle broke her out of her embarrassment, and a hand descended to ruffle her hair.

“You’ll fit in quite nicely, Slaugh.” He purred. Slaugh flushed a deeper red, and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Enough chatter, trash. Get moving. Lussuria, Yosei, keep me updated.”

“ _Copy that.”_

_“I copy, Boss. Oh, Ra found a safe with files in it. Do you want it?”_

“Yes. Anything else?”

_“Just the files, some cash, a few passports and a photo.”_

“Bring it. Lussuria, move it.”

“Administrator Sorin, you have a…mass of green…Lightning’s headed your way.”

“ _Copy that, Slaugh. Thanks for the head up. It…fuck! Boss, it’s Levi, but he’s missing three members. No sign of headsets.”_

Her Sky swore, and pushed his way over to Slaugh’s computer.

“Do you have Goldilocks?”

“ _Affirmative. He’s not in good shape, needs immediate medical attention, more than I can give him currently.”_

_“Third floor cleared, exiting via fire escape and windows, elevator and stairs compromised.”_

_“Voi, I’m en route, eyes on Levi. Lussuria, regroup with Sorin. Phirun, Glaw, with me. Mazin, take the rest and assist Yosei with wounded.”_

“ _Copy that. Slaugh, update on Officer Levi’s position?”_

“Northwest side of building, taking the long way around to the back. Missing Raijin, Burak and Kidlat. Administrator Yosei, you have three minutes to get clear.”

“ _Copy.”_

“ _Boss. I have Goldilocks. And…its so much worse.”_

Slaugh spun, knife drawn, when she sensed the presence behind her, and Janus from Mist stepped out, hands held up.

“Just me. Boss, the trigger.”

“Thank you, Janus. Go assist with transport.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“ _We’re clear. Blow it.”_

With a feral grin, her Sky pressed the button, and the building on the monitors exploded in a blaze of glory, burying all those who harmed Federico Vongola.

.

.

“How is he?” Hamlet, Federico’s Rain Guardian, demanded as soon as she entered the private wing of the hospital. Slaugh didn’t bother to look up, the translating tattoo on her ankle burning slightly, indicating that she had relied on it too much, and her mind occupied on the Italian dictionary she was slogging her way through. Her Sky ( _mySkymineMINE)_ had given her three languages to learn by the end of three months, and although her Japanese was passable, her Thai and Italian were close to unbearable. Surprising, since she was fluent in Latin, but she couldn’t wrap her head around some of the words.

Officer Lussuria had disappeared into the operating theatre four hours ago with Administrator Sorin and three of Vongola’s top doctors, and yet the light indicating sugery was in process was still on. Slaugh would have helped if she could, but she knew that while she was reasonable with Magical Healing, explaining it to two paranoid Sun’s and the ever-nosy Vongola would led to a massive mess.

“Voi, where is Macbeth?” Officer Squalo asked, slouching in the seat next to Slaugh. He’d been stuck dealing with Levi, until her Sky had sent him to ‘ _babysit the cloudling in case the old man gets ideas’_. She had originally been with Lussuria, but when the Sun had forced the Vongola Heir into emergency surgery, Slaugh had been left alone with a couple of CEDEF imbeciles who had first tried flirting with her, and then threatening her. Squalo had arrived, and they had fled (Squalo hadn’t minded babysitting the cloudling. They were quiet, kept to themselves and only occasionally asked for correction for pronunciation).

“Tied up with Nono. Any news?”

“Voi, still in surgery. Lussuria hasn’t come out yet.”

“No news is good news, correct?” Slaugh commented, and she immediately felt the stony gaze of Hamlet attempt to pierce her brain.

“Who the hell are you?”

“You may call me Slaugh.” Slaugh replied, turning the page of the dictionary, and subtly Increasing her memory to make sure the words were embedded in her brain. She could have used a Translation spell, but she felt like it was cheating.

“The new Cloud Officer, voi.” Officer Squalo added, shutting his eyes, and poking Slaugh with a flesh finger. “Voi, wake me when Macbeth gets here. Tall, Kenyan, with light blue eyes. He’s Polarized.”

“Yes, Officer Squalo.”

Hamlet slumped into the seat next to Slaugh, and sighed.

“He was about to Harmonize with a Mist. If he doesn’t survive this…”

“Voi, spare me your woes, Hamlet.” Squalo grumbled, twisting a little, until his head rested on Slaugh’s shoulder. She tensed, but Squalo ignored it, and seemed to fall asleep. She envied him the ability, but remained focused on the dictionary, the only sound for hours yet to come would be her turning the pages.

.

.

“Japan?” Xanxus leaned back in his chair, and eyed the old man, Nono Vongola. “What are you playing at now, old man?”

“We lack heirs.” Nono stated, his face twisted. Behind him, his Guardians also looked as though they had all swallowed lemons before the meeting. “Iemitsu Sawada has a son, who has the blood of Primo running through his veins. Reborn has already started training him, and I would like you and your Guardians to test them a little, to see how he is progressing.”

“Since you are ineligible for the title of Decimo, anyway, bastard.” Coyote Nought sneered, and beside him, Squalo bristled.

“Voi, you shut your ugly mouth, you piece of…” Xanxus silenced him with a brief touch to Squalo’s flesh arm, Sky Flames seeping into his Rain.

“Why send me? Why not Federico?” He questioned, red eyes narrowed.

“Federico is…no longer able to wield Flames.” Nono looked particularly bitter. “The rings did not accept him. Your Sun Officer says that he will still be able to Harmonize, but not wield flames. He is retiring to teach at Mafia School.”

“Good.” Xanxus commented, and leaned back in his chair, ignoring the glares sent his way with practised ease. “He would like that. He’d always wanted to be a teacher.”

“We will be sending you and your Officers, with a substitute Storm and Cloud from the CEDEF since you cannot field them, to test the future Vongola Decimo. That is your mission. Iemitsu has been kind enough to shortlist two candidates already.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Xanxus smirked, taking a sip from the glass of water in front of him. Typical, the old man wouldn’t provide him with alcohol ( _uselessoldsenilefart)_. “I have a Cloud Officer on trial, and Administrator Yosei will be standing in for Storm.”

“There have been no new Clouds in the VARIA since last year.” Ganauche III butted in, and this time, it was Lussuria who answered.

“Is that what your little spies told you, Vongola? Tch, amatuers.”

“Lussuria.” Xanxus warned, not wanting his Sun to get into trouble with Nono. Nono may not have much power over the VARIA, but he could still make life difficult for the flamboyant Sun ( _brightsmilefalsesmilekiller)_. Lussuria, thankfully, backed down, and he was glad that he had not brought his little cloudling along to the meeting (Yosei was showing Slaugh the filing processes today). Slaugh was an asset, but in a room with these old sharks, they would have been eaten. Or stolen, and Xanxus didn’t like the thought of that ( _CloudyoungpreciousMINE)._

“Very well. Iemitsu will meet you at the airport. You depart in six hours. Dismissed.” Xanxus stood and walked out the door, Lussuria and Squalo flanking him, the Rain slamming the doors behind him.

“Boss…”

“I know, Lussuria. You saved his life, and for me, that was enough.”

“I should have tried harder.”

“Voi, shitty Sun. I already have to deal with a depressed Mist, don’t make me deal with a depressed Sun as well.” Squalo bumped their shoulders together, and Xanxus hid a smile, before he wiped his face clear of emotion.

“Lussuria, I need you to keep an eye on Levi for this trip. We lost three Lightning’s that could have been Officer’s in two years or less on that raid, and his entire squad lost their headsets. Something is suspicious, and I don’t trust him.”

“On it.”

“Squalo, step up Slaugh’s training for hand-to-hand. I’ll notify Yosei to get info on Sawada and his family, plus the potential guardians.”

.

Just because the old man had said to test the brat, doesn’t mean that they wouldn’t go easy. It would be Slaugh’s first time in the field.

.

He couldn’t wait to see it.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

**Omake 2**

**.**

“Dragons.” Viktor slammed a thick, leather bound book on to their designated study table, a thick cloud of dust rising from the cover, their previous notes scattering on to the floor. Cedric swore. Fleur set some notes on fire, and Belladonna slammed a knife into the table.

“The peasants shall _die._ ”

.

“That ees mahogany!” Fleur snapped, pulling the knife out and glaring at Belladonna, while Cedric eyed the book, and opened it.

“ _The Book of Dragons,’_ By Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. Where did you get this?” Viktor shrugged.

“Personal copy. Gut read.”

“We are so doomed.” Cedric moaned.

.

**.**

**Omake 3**

.

The flames split.

.

“BITCH, YOU THOUGHT!” Belladonna cackled, reminding everyone that she was indeed related to Bellatrix Lestrange, and that the only difference in their name was a mere five letters. The dragon paused, and tilted its head in confusion. Belladonna grinned, and pulled out a machine gun, and screamed a war cry that would haunt Hogwarts for years to come.

“EAT LEAD, MOTHERFUCKER!!!!”

.

.

.

**Omake 4 (dedicated to cross-over-lover232, lol I couldn’t resist)**

**.**

The dragon roared, before it was abruptly cut off as something appeared in a flash of indigo light and landed on top of it. On closer inspection, it appeared to be a large wooden throne, and seated upon that throne….

“TRASH!” The man yelled, feathers in his hair and red eyes glowing with rage. The spectators screamed, and the man grinned (the proper response to his presence), before focusing on the Headmaster, eyes narrowed. “My name is Xanxus di Varia. You stole my Storm. Prepare to die.”

He pulled out his guns, and opened fire.

.

.

Later, when the screams were silenced and the perpetrators were killed, Xanxus sat atop his throne, the pile of dead bodies being used as a footrest, and the Horntail sniffing at him curiously. He eyed it.

“Dragon trash.”

[ _Fledgling]_ it crooned back, and wrapped its tail around the throne. Xanxus grinned, and Belladonna sighed.

“Boss, please don’t tell me you intend to take the dragon with us?”

“Of course I do, trash. The eggs as well. Who needs Vongola, when you have the VARIA and an army of dragons?”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Admin being a step below Officer, mostly dealing with day-to-day and assigning missions, but lacking the fundamental leadership skills or respect from the rest of the Division. Most seconds in the VARIA are Admin, with the exception being Sorin from Sun and Idril from Lightning.


	10. Against a Sea of Troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "…take arms against a sea of troubles…" Hamlet, William Shakespeare
> 
> .
> 
> 'Madness'- Ruelle
> 
> .

.

.

.

_….infinite wisdom, see fit to have us swimming in the lake during the tail end of winter, in Scotland. I have never witnessed such a display of arrogance, ignorance and sheer stupidity that the organizers are currently projecting. I am merely thankful that my memories of our summers together have returned; as it turns out, all it took was almost dying by dragon fire for it to happen. Otherwise, I may have been persuaded to swim in my robes at an attempt to keep warm in the currently sub-freezing temperatures of the Black Lake._

Belladonna tapped her quill against her chin, thinking about how to phrase her next question. She disliked asking for help, but she couldn’t swim very well, and although her Luna’s idea about using Gillyweed had merit, the thought of donning one of Fleur’s spare swimsuits was nightmarish in all its glory.

_I write to request two things, if it does not inconvenience you. I will compensate your monetary losses, of course. First, I require two female wetsuits, one for a seventeen year old with a height of 183cm, the other for myself (last measurement was 164cm). Xerxes, my owl, will be more than happy to wait and carry these back to me. The next is more personal. Attached is my prescription for venlafaxine, to help prevent my migraines. There was an incident in my dorms shortly after I arrived back that resulted in my prescription being confiscated as ‘illicit drugs’, believed to be for recreational use, and my ‘episodes’ have steadily been getting worse. Attached to my prescription is a letter to my physician, Doctor Gordon. It should let you pick up the medicine with no problems, but if there is an issue, please let me know. Again, Xerxes will be happy to wait to transport this to me._

_If you send me the receipt for both of these things, you can expect the money in your account after a week (there is a significant delay of bank postage out here). I thank you for your assistance in these matters, Zahir, and may you and your family prosper._

_._

_Yours in faith,_

_Belladonna V. Potter_

_(The Potter Seal)_

.

She tapped her wand to the parchment to dry the ink, before rolling it and sealing it once more with the Potter Seal. A copy of her prescription (the real one hidden in her trunk inside a blood-locked drawer) and her letter to Dr Gordon were already attached, now all she had to do was send it. She would have to wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend, however, and ask Heir Longbottom for a favour, since her own mail was being monitored. Her Eurasian eagle-owl seemed to like the otherwise quiet and shy boy (who had grown a spine over the summer, and had _hexed_ the brash weasel peasant for teasing firsties), and Heir Longbottom seemed equally besotted with her owl (Regent Longbottom evidently didn’t trust her grandson with an owl).

She was pleased that her memories of most of her summers had returned, however. They were good memories, and undoubtedly her own ( _confusionmalefemaleunsure)_ , and they were such _fun._ She had learnt how to ride a motorcycle, pick locks, how to fly across rooftops, how to navigate London with ease, how to blend in. There had been moments of tension when she had returned to the giraffe and the pigs, but they were small and insignificant parts of her summer. She had much more fun with the Muggles that her ‘aunt’ despised, and had even dyed the ends of her hair a deep blood red, and purchased a leather jacket that she loved (it was held by the recipient of the letter, Zahir, whose family owned a small garage catering to motorcycles, Zahir himself working at a tattoo parlour).

She was, however, angry that she had _forgotten_ those memories _in the first place._ It meant that something, or someone, was messing with her mind, and she didn’t like that one bit.

.

Her alarm chimed softly, reminding her that she had a meeting with the other champions to discuss the clue from the golden egg. She grabbed her satchel and her letter, and spared a glance to the wall where her Theo had enlarged and framed the front page picture from the November Tri-Wizard Special by the Daily Prophet, and let a small smile grace her lips.

It was of herself (she thought it vain, Luna thought it hilarious), the moment she had wielded the flames, her arms cast wide, and the flames themselves flaring out into fiery wings that spanned the entire width of the Quidditch pitch. Her curls were loose and whipping around her face, there was a cut across her cheek oozing blood, and her eyes were glowing an eerie green, reminiscent of the killing curse. But it was her smile that Belladonna personally like the most.

It was a cruel thing, twisting at her lips, promising blood and pain, and it satisfied her greatly.

.

She looked the very image of the Dark Witch she was.

.

It was a very good picture. She supposed that she could go easy on the stalker peasant for few months.

.

.

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_‘GIRL-WHO-LIVED-TO-TURN-DARK! THE TRUTH BEHIND THE FIRST TASK!’_

_._

_‘THE GIRL-WHO-LIVED; POWERFUL AND CORRUPTED?’_

_._

_‘ELEMENTAL RIGHTS UNDER REVIEW- THE CIRCLES CALL FOR EQUALITY!’_

_._

_‘VEELA; CREATURE OR HUMAN? A NEW CLASSIFICATION?’_

_._

_‘FUDGE CALLS FOR EMERGENCY WIZENGAMOT MEETING! CREATURE RIGHTS BATTLED ONCE MORE!’_

_._

_‘THE REAL STORY OF THE CIRCLE MURDERS- GENOCIDE OR TERRORIST PREVENTION?’_

.

.

“Zat leetle stunt you pulled ‘as them panicky.” Fleur stated as she munched her way through a breakfast muffin covered in jam.

“Nyet, not just Belladonna.” Krum countered, his mountain of eggs and toast nearly finished. “You sang ze dragon to sleep. Impressive. Dangerous.”

“Compared to the ladies, I think our own performances fell a little short, aye?” Cedric shrugged at the mildly offended look he got from Viktor. “Especially Belladonna’s. The picture was nice. Very…striking.”

“My Theo framed it and stuck it in our study room. Luna thought it was amusing.” Belladonna turned the page of the tome on Elemental Theory, trying to figure out just _how_ she had survived. She knew that the Blacks had some creature blood ( _SirencallBlacksong)_ , and the Peverell’s were so ancient _anything_ might be in there, but her gut was telling her that her strange ability came from the Potter side. Maybe even the Evan’s side; there was a lot she didn’t know about her mother, and the giraffe refused to say anything about her. _Bitch._ The yearbooks didn’t have much either. Just standard info, like favourite class and worst class (Charms and Flying, respectively). She didn’t even know her parent’s _bloodtype_ , or even their _birthdays_. It wasn’t as though she could ask the wolf professor and her dogfather (being fugitives and all), and all the professors were notoriously tight-lipped.

“Eet is sickening.” Fleur spat suddenly, pointing to the article outlining the Circle Murders. “Just a lie to cover up their mistakes.”

“The Circle Murders were exactly that: murders. There was no other reason to slaughter over four hundred men, women and children.” Cedric bit into a sausage savagely. “My father agreed at the time, and I lost my mother because of it. She had the bloodline, but not the gift. I missed it as well. Now, there are so many restrictions, they might as well be in a prison camp.”

“In Bulgaria, you either haf magic or you don’t. Simple.” Viktor frowned at the latest article debating whether Belladonna was going dark or she already was (which was stupid, anyone could see that her core was so Darke with Familie Magicks it was a miracle she could cast a Patronus), and whether Wizarding Britain was dealing with a new Dark Lady or not, when he noticed something…off.

Belladonna kept twitching her fingers, as if she were spinning a knife…where were her knives? Hadn’t she stabbed the desk the day he’d told them what the first task was? Cedric met his gaze, and narrowed his eyes, nodding. He’d noticed as well. Viktor still didn’t know where Belladonna had gotten the knife she wore in the First Task, but he wanted to ask her. It was superb craftsmanship. Fleur had seemed off since the Yule Ball, and ever since they had figured out that the Second Task involved water (he shuddered at the thought of swimming in the Black Lake), she had been getting increasingly anxious.

Because the ‘ _thing you’ll sorely miss’_ could be anything.

And that scared him more than he wanted to admit.

.

He was interrupted from his musings by the arrival of Xerxes, Belladonna’s owl. The owl itself was a third of Belladonna’s height, and it never failed to amuse the champions when Xerxes decided to perch on his mistress and preen her hair like she was an errant fledgling. Today, however, the owl was carrying a rather large package, wrapped in what looked like brown paper. Belladonna looked up from her book, and slammed it shut, her bookmark poking out somewhere past the halfway mark.

“Fleur. We have a fitting. Come with me. Luna, you as well, we will have need of your enchanting skills.”

Viktor watched the two blondes (three, technically) and the ravenette leave the hall, and then looked at Cedric, confused.

“Vat fitting?”

.

.

**February- Second Task**

“I am very fucking jealous right now.” Cedric swore as he wrapped his arms around his middle. “You didn’t think to get the Muggle swimsuits for us?”

“I assumed you’d be used to freezing water, Cedric, given that you live in Cornwall during the summers. And you, Viktor, are from Bulgaria.”

Standing on the edge of the dock, Belladonna Potter cut a sharp figure in her black wetsuit, the red stitching giving it a wicked edge. Fleur, standing next to her, had charmed her wetsuit silver and blue, and it had made Belladonna’s head spin ( _voishittyprince)_ because it reminded her of someone and she _couldn’t fucking remember_ , but now, she realised that it was to make Fleur easily seen in the water (she looked like a snow fairy). They had agreed to stick close to each other (there were Grindylows in there, after all), with Viktor swimming vanguard, and Belladonna rearguard, Fleur in the middle, Cedric on her left flank.

“There is a difference between summer in Cornwall and _winter_ in _Scotland_. Fuck, the ice had finished melting less than two weeks ago. The snow on the mountains is _still_ melting. The water is glacial.”

“Do not svim during vinter in Bulgaria. Turn blue in seconds.”

Fleur sighed, and fixed Viktor with a bland look.

“Are you not a Transfeeguration genius?” Viktor looked embarrassed, waving his wand to try and replicate the suit. Up in the stands, there was a sudden onslaught of disappointed groans as the Quidditch star’s abs disappeared. Cedric copied him, but he was missing half the legs of his suit, and it was a strange yellow-grey.

“That’ll have to do.” He sighed. “Hopefully I don’t freeze to death. If I do, please tell Cho…”

“I will not pass on romantic messages to your girlfriend, Cedric.” Belladonna stated flatly. “If you thought you were going to die, you should have left a note and a will.”

“Fair.” Cedric conceded. “I was hoping to get a good luck kiss from her this morning, but I couldn’t find her. It was really odd.”

“I could not find _ma petite souer_ eizer.”

Belladonna paled.

“Viktor…who is the person you would miss the most? Quickly.”

“My _drugar,_ Aleksan…” he trailed off, staring at first the lake, and then Belladonna, eyes wide. “Zhey vouldn’t….”

“My Theo was not at breakfast, nor did he come to wish me luck. My Luna had not seen him. Neither had Heiress Greengrass.” Belladonna admitted.

“Not _what_ we’ll sorely miss, but _who_.” Cedric clicked, and Fleur paled to match her hair.

“ _Ma petite souer…Gabrielle…non.”_

Belladonna remembered something crucial. Veela were creatures of Fire. Fleur was part Veela. So was Gabrielle.

.

And she was submerged underwater.

.

.

Belladonna sped through the water, half an hour gone, Cedric and Viktor at her sides. Fleur had gone to the surface at the twenty minute mark, unable to be submerged for so long. Viktor, with his shark head Transfiguration, turned a sharp left. Belladonna and Cedric, powered by Gillyweed (stolen from the potions peasant’s private stores), raced after him, following the singing. It had started up five minutes ago, the Merpeople most likely eager to have the intruders in their territory gone, and it had helpfully provided the direction they needed to go in. Belladonna, although she was trying not to show it, was extremely worried. About Gabrielle, yes, but her Theo had always been so dreadfully thin, and didn’t have the body fat to fight off sickness, should he get ill. And being immersed in sub-freezing temperatures for an hour was just asking for trouble.

Cho, Cedric’s girlfriend, was also very thin, and had just recovered from a nasty bout of coughing that had infected the majority of Ravenclaw. She didn’t know much about Viktor’s younger brother, but he certainly didn’t share his brother’s bulk. He was also, from what she could remember, ten years old, and excited to be starting Durmstrang this September. He had not come to Hogwarts on Yule, but had visited with the other champions families (she had sat in the corner of the room, feeling bitter and so very, very lonely). She could only be thankful, however, that her Luna had not been taken. Luna had a very strange gift that made all sorts of spells ineffective, and the one keeping her underwater may have failed before Belladonna had gotten to her.

And she didn’t want any of her friends to drown because she wasn’t _fast enough._

They banked around a tall stone column, the mer-village coming into sight. On a normal day, Belladonna might have been fascinated by the structures, but seeing the _hostages_ trussed up like a pig for Yule, Belladonna raced towards them, the two other champions following suit once they spotted what she had.

Gabrielle was struggling.

The spell had worn off.

Belladonna fired a cutting spell that sliced through the ropes tethering the hostages to the stone, Gabrielle catching sight of them and waving frantically. Cedric brushed past Belladonna, wand already moving in the glyphs needed for the Bubble-Head charm, casting it successfully onto the small French girl. Belladonna made her way towards her Theo, drawing in a deep breath to gather oxygen, before pressing her lips to his, forcing air down his throat. Theo’s eyes snapped open, and thankfully he had enough sense not to panic when he saw her face inches from her own. Belladonna pointed up, Theo nodding and kicking out, hindered slightly by his robes. Belladonna wrapped an arm around Gabrielle, and followed, the red fire around her other hand dissuading the merfolk from trying to stop her.

She caught up to Theo easily, Viktor speeding past, a squirming Aleksander in his arms as the boy panicked, Cedric tugging an awake and Bubble-Headed Cho behind him, Cho devoid of her robes and dressed in a t-shirt and a skirt, Theo ditched his robes, still clad in his school uniform, and quickened his pace, breaking the water seconds before Belladonna did, gasping for air and shaking his head like a dog.

“I hate the fucking lake.” He gasped, and Belladonna nodded at him, keeping her neck underwater, the Gillyweed still active for another twenty minutes. Ahead of them, Viktor was treading water, trying to calm his brother down, the boy clinging to his shoulders and sobbing. Gabrielle was crying as well, but thankfully, she wasn’t in hysterics yet.

“ _Come, Gabrielle. Your sister awaits.”_ Belladonna murmured, and nodded to Theo, who set out towards the dock in a smooth breaststroke, Belladonna following at a slower pace. Viktor joined them as they passed, his brother now riding piggyback and still sobbing.

“Aleksander…does not like ze vater. Boat accident over summer.” Viktor explained at her questioning glance, the Bulgarian matching her slow pace.

“No one likes freezing water, Viktor. Least of all Veela.” Belladonna remarked wryly, gesturing to the quietly sobbing blonde. She was starting to feel a little numb in her toes, which meant that she had a limited time left in the water. Her arms were killing her as well; she’d been slacking on her physical training, clearly. Ahead, Cedric and Cho had reached the dock, and Hufflepuff was going nuts, the runes professor hauling him out, before lifting Cho, the couple then helping Theo out of the water, the thin Slytherin hacking up lake water, his body shuddering with the force of the coughs. Belladonna let Viktor go ahead, Fleur coming forward to pick up Aleksander and wrap a towel around him, Viktor heaving himself up out of the water in a very impressive display of athleticism, while Belladonna grabbed the edge, the starry professor coming forward to tug Gabrielle out of the water and hand her over to Fleur.

With a full body shudder, the Gillyweed wore off, and Belladonna shivered, thankful that the wetsuit insulated and retained most of her body heat. She pulled herself up, ignoring the hands that were offered, and made her way towards her Theo, hair dripping wet and feet white with cold. Theo stood up as she approached, and stood stock still as she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

“Belladonna…?”

“Don’t.” She whispered, throat tight. “Just…don’t say anything.” She felt Theo wrap his arms, and another blanket, around her shoulders, and squeeze her tight.

“Okay.” He whispered back, and Belladonna breathed through her rising panic attack. Gabrielle’s spell had worn off, and Theo’s had been broken so easily, what if they had been a minute too late, what if Theo’s had broken five minutes in, what if what if…

“Bel.” Theo murmured, her heart stopping at the nickname ( _rightnamerealnameMINE)_ , ‘I’m alive. I’m breathing.” He reached around his waist, and pulled one of Belladonna’s arms off, and directed her hand to his throat.

“Can you feel my pulse?”

She could. It was steady, but too fast, but she could feel it beating all the same. She imagined his heart beating inside his chest, in time with the pulse from his carotid, and rested her head on his chest (he was taller, when had he gotten taller?).

“Don’t scare me like that again.” She demanded. “Next time you get kidnapped, send a message, and I’ll come rescue you.”

Theo chuckled, and cautiously rested his cheek against her head.

“Why am I the damsel in distress?”

“Because I am the dragon, obviously.” Came the muffled retort, and Theo did laugh, the vibrations another reminder that he was _alive_ , and not drowning at the bottom of the lake.

.

The precious moment was broken, however, by the flash of a camera, and the irritating bug peasant made her presence known.

“Belladonna! Why was Theodore Nott, the son and grandson of known Death Eaters, chosen as your hostage?”

.

She shouldn’t have, she really shouldn’t have. But after the shock she had, with her Theo almost dying, Gabrielle ( _smallinnocentHERS)_ almost drowning, and the private moment of reassuring herself that her Theo was alive being interrupted, this _entire damn tournament_ , she found herself at the end of her tether.

.

“Fuck off.” Such crass words, but they seemed to silence everyone within a ten metre radius, all eyes turning to her.

“I…beg your pardon?” the bug peasant looked taken aback, and Theo, still with his arms around her, sighed.

“So you should beg my pardon, Ms Skeeter. You have just interrupted a private moment in your quest to get the next ‘scoop’, you addressed me with a familiarity that I did not give permission for, and you clearly are trespassing, as this is the designated area for Champions and currently, their hostages. Ergo, I reiterate; fuck off.”

“Bel,’ Theo admonished, ‘be a lady.”

“Fine. _Please_ fuck off.” She turned to Theo, eyebrow raised, and he smirked.

“Better.”

“Mr Nott, do you have a comment?” The bug peasant turned to her Theo, and she was surprised when he withdrew his arms (she missed the warmth, and then berated herself for being silly. There were such things as _warming charms_ ) and turned to face the bug peasant.

“If you want to tear someone apart, try the organizers.” The bug peasant leaned forward, eyes holding an unholy gleam.

“Oh?”

“They certainly did not ask my father’s permission to use me in the tournament. I am a minor, Ms Skeeter. Although the Head of House has the right to act _in loco parentis_ during the school year, any decisions that may cause bodily harm to an Heir must be made by either their parents of their legal guardian. And judging by Madame Maxine’s rather impressive shouting, I’d say that Gabrielle was not supposed to be used in today’s task either.”

“Thank you for the tip, Mr Nott.” The bug peasant scribbled furiously on her notepad.

“I expect to be quoted verbatim, Ms Skeeter.” Theo’s voice was colder than the lake, and Belladonna’s second eyebrow joined the first. _A spine of steel. Impressive._ “There will be reparations if I am not.”

“Understood.” The bug peasant squeaked, quailing under his glare. Her Theo turned to face her once more, and offered his arm.

“Well then, oh most noble dragon, I believe that Professor Babbling and Professor Sinistra are handing out hot chocolate and Pepper-up Potions. Shall we go partake of this delicacy?”

“Lead the way, oh most fair damsel.” Belladonna smirked at the offended look he gave her as she accepted his arm, her fingers going immediately to his wrist to find his pulse, Theo humouring her with a small smile. Occupied as they were with thoughts on pulses and hot chocolate, they didn’t notice the flash of the camera going off a second time.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

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**OMAKE**

.

**Ring Battles, Day 1- SUN**

“The Sun Battle shall now commence.”

Xanxus gritted his teeth as his legs cramped, Squalo sending a slight tendril of his Flames to ease it somewhat. He disliked this situation immensely. The old man had given Sawada’s brat the half-rings, and told the little fluffball (Sawada’s brat was cute, reminded him of a baby rabbit) that Xanxus was trying to usurp the throne. Not to mention that the damn baby hitman trash was here, putting Mammon in a foul mood (the Mist already irritated that their efforts to find Belphegor had been put on hold), and he had to deal with the stupid storm brat Smokin’ Bomb Hayato (whom he had refused entry into the VARIA because the kid had been _eight_ , and no, Belphegor didn’t count) giving him filthy looks.

The Rain brat he had thought was Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, alias: _Ao no Shinigami_ (when the man had been an active assassin and was a role model of sorts) turned out to be his son, which made it unfortunate that the kid faced Squalo, because the two had never really gotten along. The Lightning brat was Bovino trash and _five_ , the Mist looked inches away from death; far too skinny and clearly malnourished, the girl needed a meal or twenty before she should even be _considered_ Guardian material, the Sun brat was _loud_ , and there were two girls watching the matches. Xanxus was sure he’d heard an ‘ _Onii-chan’_ in their chatter, so it was a sibling, most likely the Sun’s. _Unfortunate._ No matter how skilled the Sun brat was, Lussuria had an edge that came with growing up in the rings and leading VARIA medical (and the Sun Officer’s underlings were _terrifying_ when focused). Not to mention over ten years of fighting and assassinations. You just didn’t beat that sort of advantage.

The only Tenth Gen he thought had any potential was the volatile Cloud that perched on a wall like some kind of gargoyle, staying far above the battle and thus having a good vantage point. He was certain that the cloud brat would put up a good fight, and that pleased him (at least the Tenth trash would have _some_ form of protection apart from the yellow baby trash), and he could already see Slaugh analysing everything about her opponent. But they were all so _young_. Including Slaugh. He himself, Squalo and Levi ( _scumtrash)_ had been mafia born and bred, Belphegor had been a bloodthirsty little shit to start with, Lussuria dragged into ring-fighting and the Triads, Mammon had been around for _decades_ ….these kids were still in _school_. Hell, the Rain brat thought it was _game_. Slaugh had just turned _fourteen._

He felt old.

“Captain, Officer Lussuria is starting their match.” Slaugh broke him out of his thoughts, Mammon jumping from their shoulder to perch on the back of his throne ( _you will sit down once we get there,_ Lussuria had ordered, _and you will remain sitting until we leave. Don’t overexert your muscles)_ like some sort of demon, Levi shifting his massive bulk from side to side, eyeing the Bovino brat like a piece of meat. He’d have to deal with the traitorous Lightning Officer sooner, rather than later, it would seem. Squalo stood to his left, prosthetic carefully hidden. Yosei stood in Lussuria’s usual place on his right, looking absolutely bored out of their mind, while Slaugh seemed to be having some sort of staring contest with the Cloud brat.

.

Lussuria, in the ring, clapped their wrapped hands, and bounced on their toes from side to side, quickly warming up the otherwise cold muscles. Xanxus could tell that the Sun brat was going to regret fighting cold; he just stood there, guard up. _Boxer._ _Easy win._ The brat was leaking so much Sun Flames, it was a miracle he was still standing. How had the baby hitman trash not noticed? Perhaps he was getting too long in the tooth to notice such things anymore. Xanxus smirked at the thought of the baby hitman trash with a walker and dentures, drawing a confused look from Yosei, but he dismissed it with a wave of his hand. Maybe he’d draw a caricature when they got back to the hotel they were staying at and share it around. It was sure to get Squalo to laugh, at any rate. Mammon might even crack a smile.

.

“Begin!”

.

It was fast, it was brutal, and it was over very quickly. The Sun brat had talent, Xanxus conceded, and dedication to learning the art. However, the problem with many boxers was that they didn’t know how to defend against kicks and knee strikes. Lussuria, long since acknowledged as a Muay Thai expert, whom had picked up a smattering of other martial arts over the years since joining the VARIA, knew this. Trained. Xanxus had once seen Lussuria kick down a banana tree because they _could_. The poor Sun brat hadn’t stood a chance, but Lussuria had been merciful, probably taking into account their opponent’s age. The Sun brat had been clever, though; Xanxus could see Lussuria limping from where the Sun brat had shattered the prosthetic knee cap with a punch, and there was a spreading bruise across Lussuria’s ribs. Two hits wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either.

“I think, boss,’ Yosei began, ‘that the Sun brat needs a few months of one-on-one with Lussuria, Sorin or even Yaxkin, before he should even be considered Guardian material. He has too many blind spots, needs to quiet down and calm down, and the sheer amount of Sun Flames he’s leaking can’t be healthy.”

“Voi, the Arcobaleno should have picked that up and fixed it. The Sun brat also needs to have more situational awareness. He could have stopped the turning kick to the ribs, if he hadn’t been so focused on trying to get Lussuria’s face.” Squalo added.

“Mou, good upper body strength, decent legs, but his footwork will be a problem in a few years. Growth spurt is set to hit soon.”

“I have nothing to add.” Slaugh shrugged when Xanxus gave her a look, still locked in her Cloud-stare-down. “Except to agree with Administrator Yosei that the flames leakage can’t be healthy. He is replacing them at a rapid rate, but any concentrated usage will exhaust him to the point of unconsciousness. It could damage his flames beyond repair if it isn’t fixed soon.”

“Don’t care.” Levi muttered, and Xanxus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Typical idiot Lightning. Lussuria had dragged the now unconscious Sun brat out of the ring, and despite the shouting and threats coming from the Tenth’s brats, proceeded to check over the Sun brat, their own controlled Sun flames coaxing the brat’s into letting them heal his injuries, the bruises disappearing, a few ribs shifting back into place. Xanxus narrowed his eyes as Lussuria froze, and his fingers twitched towards his guns (not his flame-powered ones, he was still forbidden from using flames for another two months) when a look of rage crossed his Sun’s face. His Sun must have noticed the flame leakage.

“ _SUN ARCOBALENO_!”

.

Oh, this was going to be _good_.

.

.

**Ring Battles, Day 2- LIGHTNING**

“The Lightning battle will now commence.”

“Levi.” Xanxus snapped, and Levi turned to him.

“Yes, boss?”

“Don’t kill the Bovino brat. We are here to test them, give them a scare. _Not_ to eliminate. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, boss.” Levi looked mutinous as he stepped into the ring, and Xanxus jerked his head to Yosei, silently asking the Storm to keep an eye on him. Mammon, seated on the armrest of his throne, sniffed, an umbrella made of Mist Flames protecting them from the rain just starting to fall.

“We need to find a new Lightning Officer. Pity Janus avoids confrontation and dislikes most of his Division.”

“That is why he transferred to Mist, Mammon darling.” Lussuria eyed the Sun brat across the divide, shaking their head. “Stupid Sun Arcobaleno. The poor darling would have died in months if I hadn’t stopped up the leaks. Haemorrhaging Sun flames at the rate he was going was noticeable to anyone with two eyes, and yet no one did anything. Including that stupid Mist, Trident Shamal.”

“Shamal was here?” There was an odd note to Squalo’s voice, and immediately, Mammon snapped at him.

“No, you cannot go and stab him, Squalo, no matter how much he deserves it.”

“Shamal refused to help with your defrosting and subsequent healing.” Yosei explained in a low tone. “Squalo took exception.”

“When does he not?” Xanxus commented slyly, and Squalo heard him.

“VOI! Shitty boss, his only excuse was that he didn’t treat males.”

“That’s his prerogative, Squ-chan. If I wanted, I could refuse to treat females. However, not only is that stupid and insulting, it’s also highly impractical and hypocritical.”

“Voi, shitty Sun, I know. He’s just a perv.” Squalo grumbled, and Lussuria shrugged.

“Not everyone can be as fabulous as me, Squ-chan!” Lussuria struck a ridiculous pose, and Squalo landed a punch on the Sun’s stomach, causing his Sun to double over with a wheeze.

“Voi, shitty Sun, be serious.”

“Officer Levi is about to battle a toddler. Has External Advisor Sawada gone mad?” Xanxus resisted the urge to laugh. Slaugh sounded innocently curious, and Xanxus knew that she sometimes missed a lot of the social cues and often said odd things, but this….this was priceless. Added to the fact that she was crouched on a low wall, mimicking the Cloud on the opposite side of the arena, yet again engaged in a staring contest, he was hard-pressed to keep a straight face.

“Should have Named you after a cat, cloudling.” He muttered. Slaugh twitched, and he smirked. “Kfir*, maybe.”

“Die.” She replied, snarling. Across the arena, an answering snarl was heard, a faint ‘ _kamikorosu’_ drifting across to them. Xanxus caught Lussuria’s scheming look, and shook his head.

“No.”

“But boss, they’d be…”

“No, Lussuria. Not until Slaugh is sixteen.”

“Spoilsport.” His Sun sulked.

.

“Begin.”

.

It started with a bang, and a puff of pink smoke, before a much older Lightning stepped forward, wearing cow horns of all things.

“Verde would kill to get his hands on that thing.” Mammon muttered. “The Ten Year Bazooka. Verde has always had troubling dealing with time travel.”

“You shouldn’t play around with time travel. Strange things happen to people that do.” Slaugh commented, ignoring the odd looks she got, still staring down the Cloud brat.

“Voi, that explains why Sawada-trash chose him.”

“Bazooka or not,’ Yosei commented, ‘he’s still fifteen, which is only marginally better than five if he hasn’t been trained.”

He had been, but only a little. And it was slaughter. All it had taken was one strike from Levi’s umbrellas, and the Lightning brat was down for the count, twitching, and reverting back to his five year old safe.

“Lussuria.” Xanxus leaned forward, eyes on the child. That strike…that was enough to fell a grown man, let alone a fifteen year old. Levi had disobeyed him.

“On it.”

“LEVI!” Squalo shouted as Levi lifted his umbrellas to strike at the child now motionless in front, and Xanxus drew a gun, firing it twice. One bullet buzzed past the Lightning Officer’s face, the other nicking his hand.

“Mammon, get the brat out of there.” Xanxus ordered, aiming his gun at Levi’s face. He’d fired the warning shots, and if Levi didn’t fall in, he’d fire the killing one as well. There was a swirl of indigo mist, and the Bovino brat disappeared from the arena, and appeared in front of Lussuria, who scanned the brat, and swore.

“Heavy nerve damage, some internal bleeding, muscle tears, severe burns.” They reported. Xanxus got the message. _Levi had been aiming for the kill._

.

“The VARIA forfeit the Lightning Battle.” He announced, and Levi spun around, livid.

“Boss…”

“Be silent.” Xanxus snapped, Mammon snagging the half-ring from Levi without his notice, and dropping it right in front of the brats. “You should be thankful that’s all I’m doing, Lightning Officer Levi. You disobeyed a direct order.”

“He was my opponent…” Levi jumped out of the arena, flames crackling around his umbrellas.

“THE BRAT IS _FIVE_!” Xanxus roared, his own temper rising. “Either fall in, or fall down, Officer Levi. You pick.”

Levi looked like he was going to argue, but Xanxus, reaching the end of his fuse, snapped out one final threat.

“Consider this your only warning, Officer. Next time you fail to obey an order, you’re dead.”

“Yes, _Captain._ ” Levi spat, and stalked off, Xanxus watching him go with narrowed eyes.

“Mammon, follow him. Make sure he doesn’t try to finish what he started.”

“Mou, you’ll owe me.” The Mist miser disappeared, and Yosei shifted uneasily.

“Boss? You should sit down.” The Storm murmured. “You are bleeding through your shirt at the back.” Xanxus ignored them, still staring after Levi. The Lightning was trouble, always had been, but this was the final straw. He needed a new Lightning, and he needed them now.

“Squalo, are there any Lightnings at the moment who are capable of killing Levi?”

“No, boss. Levi had been cleaning house, and not in a good way.”

“Any in the other divisions?”

“The strongest is Janus from Mist.” Yosei supplied. “But he’s barely Admin Material, nowhere close to Officer Material.”

“Raijin was Administrator Material.” Slaugh interjected. “The clean-up crews still haven’t found his body, however.”

“It’s been over a month, voi. If they haven’t found anything by now, it’s doubtful that they will.”

Xanxus gritted his teeth. They were running out of time.

.

.


	11. Now Could I Drink Hot Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> '...now could I drink hot blood...' Hamlet, William Shakespeare
> 
> .
> 
> 'Broken,' Lucas King
> 
> .

‘ _THE GIRL-WHO-LIVED, IN LOVE?’_

.

_The Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament finished, and with naught to do but wait for the Third, this reporter turns her attention to the spectacle the Girl-Who-Lived caused at the conclusion of the previous Task. The Task was to retrieve their hostage, as the ‘thing they’ll sorely miss’, and the line-up was quite expected. The Beauxbatons Champion failed to retrieve her younger sister, only lasting a mere twenty minutes in the water before having to retire form the task. The Durmstrang Champion, Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum, also had to rescue his younger sibling, Ivan Krum, and Hogwarts Champion Cedric Diggory rescued his long-time girlfriend, Cho Chang._

_The Girl-Who-Lived’s hostage was, however, the most surprising. It wasn’t, like many of us speculated, her date to the Yule Ball, Constantine Prince, but instead the son and grandson of renowned Death Eaters. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, the Girl-Who-Lived’s most precious person was none other than Theodore Nott. But that’s not all. This reporter was lucky enough to witness a rather touching scene at the conclusion of the second task, and dear readers, it brought tears to my eyes._

_As you can see, the two were wrapped in a passionate embrace, and our darling Saviour seems to be overcome with emotion at the brush with death her hostage had. Rumours have speculated that the spell keeping Mr Nott in stasis underwater (set to be broken once they had reached the surface) had broken while he was still tied up! Mr Nott, unlike the other Champions and hostages, surfaced seconds before Ms Potter did, Ms Potter surfacing with Gabriel Delacour moments later. The sister to the Beauxbatons Champion also seemed alert, and a Bubble-Head charm was still in use._

_When this reporter did some investigating, she heard this from Ms Potter’s schoolmates._

_“They’re always together, along with Loony Lovegood.” A classmate commented._

_“She calls him ‘her Theo’ or ‘my Theo’ whenever she talks about him.” Another added._

_“Dating? You mean, they weren’t already?” Asked a confused housemate to Mr Nott._

_._

_Is romance on the horizon for our blossoming young Saviour? Has Nott captured the heart of the Girl-Who-Lived, or is something more sinister afoot? Has Constantine Prince been cast aside?_

_Never fear, dear readers, Rita Skeeter is on the case!_

.

Belladonna was eerily still. There, in full colour and on the front page of the most worthless rag in existence, was a picture of herself and Theo, hugging. She hadn’t realized how it would have looked to others who weren’t familiar with the odd Trio, but it was all there, and it looked very, very intimate, captured at the moment Theo had taken her hand to place over his carotid. Over at the Slytherin table, her Theo was equally still, face pale. Because if this paper had arrived early this morning at Hogwarts, then he could be sure that his father had gotten it that morning as well.

She turned the page, hoping to erase the picture and the gossip-mongering words from her mind, only to feel all the colour drain from her face.

This was worse. It was so much worse.

A full page picture, of the moment they had rescued their hostages, in colour, Belladonna easy to spot in her black wetsuit, at the moment she had broken the spell by blowing oxygen into Theo’s mouth. Again, it looked like something it was not. But, it was almost undeniable. The way she had gently cradled his head, with her lips pressed to his, floating in front of him with her hair spread out behind her like some water nymph, skin pale in the water, made for a very ethereal kiss.

 _Sweet Hellfire_.

If she had actually been dating her Theo, she would have been impressed at the pictures, and maybe even blushed. However, to her, they just looked like a severe invasion of her privacy, and she was going to make the bug peasant _pay._

The paper caught fire, and she tossed it to the ground, her appetite lost. Thrice damn it all. She ignored the mocking and curious looks she got from her housemates, pushing her yogurt around in her bowl as she contemplated her next move. She’d have to write to the editor, file for slander and libel, and hopefully she could convince Constantine Prince to do so as well (considering that their Yule Ball collaboration was alliance based), and no doubt her Theo’s father would do the same (because Nott Snr was a Death Eater, yes, but he was a paranoid one), but legally, she couldn’t do a damn thing to the bug peasant herself, because Skeeter was _gossip columnist_ , not an actual reporter, and the Daily Prophet could print whatever they wanted on their front page.

“Belladonna, can zhey…print this?” Fleur queried, eyeing the paper with disgust, certain parts of it highlighted in red ink, no doubt to send to her father.

“Dey did not get Aleksander’s name right.” Viktor grumbled. “Not _Ivan_.”

“Skeeter’s popular.” Cedric spoke up, face hidden behind the paper. “No one cares what she writes, as long as it’s not about them. Although, Belladonna,’ Cedric peeked over the top of his _Prophet_ , ‘is the second picture…?”

“Yes.” She confirmed. “But it’s not a kiss. I could not handle Gabrielle with a deadweight Theo. I needed him awake, so I forced oxygen into his lungs.”

“Interesting.” Cedric mused. “And not a single thing about the kidnapping that it was. My money is on Crouch trying to cover up the use of two minors without consent.”

“Three.” Cho butted in, the butterfly peasant joining them for breakfast, pressed close to Cedric. “Nott is still underage.”

“ _Imbecile’s._ ” Fleur hissed. “Gabrielle did not…take eet well. She is deestressed.”

Viktor muttered something unsavoury under his breath, and Belladonna sighed.

“It couldn’t get any worse.”  
Silence greeted her words as each Champion eyed the newspaper with varying degrees of disgust, before Cedric looked up.

“Heads up, someone has a Howler.” Belladonna spun around to track it, the red envelope smoking ominously, as it bypassed the Gryffindor table, then Hufflepuff…

“Theo.” She whispered, and her Theo must have realized it as well, as he stood and quickly walked towards the doors to escape.

No such luck. The Howler exploded, the poor owl landing somewhere in the Hufflepuff third years, and the nasal tones of Nott Snr echoed throughout the hall.

.

“ _NEVER IN ALL MY LIFE HAVE I BEEN SO DISGUSTED, SO DISGRACED, BY THE PERFORMANCE YOU PUT ON WITH THE BLOODY POTTER GIRL. DID I NOT TEACH YOU BETTER? YOU HAVE DISHONOURED YOUR FAMILY NAME AND HUMILIATED ME!”_

Her Theo had stopped, and stood still, head high and his back to the Howler, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he clenched his fists and the subtle way he clenched his jaw. He was embarrassed, yes, but he was also angry. His housemates were snickering behind their hands, most of the Gryffindors were jeering underneath the sound of the Howler.

“ _YOU’D BETTER WATCH YOURSELF WHEN YOU GET HOME, BOY, BECAUSE I GUARANTEE THAT I WILL BE TEACHING YOU A LESSON YOU WILL NEVER FORGET. HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU WHORED AROUND WITH THE POTTER CHIT, THEODORE? HOW MANY TIMES DID SHE GIVE YOU FAVOURS? OR DID YOU DEBASE YOURSELF FOR MONEY OR FAME, JUST LIKE YOUR SLUT MOTH….”_

Belladonna started as her Theo spun around, green sparks crackling around him and eyes ablaze with fury, and pointed at the Howler. Lightning arched out of his finger and struck the Howler, green engulfing it and shredding it into confetti. Silence fell, thick and stagnant, and Theo lowered his arm, magic swirling around him.

“Anyone else?” He uttered lowly, his voice carrying through the silent hall easily. Some students in Slytherin shifted, the ferret peasant looking especially nervous, others in Gryffindor dead pale. When no answer came, Theo stalked out of the Hall, green lightning still sparking through his hair and between his fingers. The doors slammed shut behind him, and it was the fiery peasant who spoke first.

“It’s always the quiet ones, huh?” Belladonna sat still, eyes trained on the door. She would find him later, once he had cooled down. Then she would consult the Oracle for the best way to kill Nott Snr.

She would present Theo the head for his birthday.

.

.

.

.

**Third Task, May.**

.

“Vat _haf_ zhey done?” Viktor gasped, staring at what used to be the Quidditch pitch. “Sacrilege!”

Beside him, Cedric was fuming.

“ _This_ is what they cancelled Quidditch for? How dare they?!”

“Eet ees hideous.” Fleur agreed. Belladonna stared at the massive row of hedges that stood before her, and swallowed.

“Maze. And the Groundskeeper provided the beasts.”

“Oh, well.” Cedric slumped, ignoring the crouching peasant droning on about the dangers. “It was nice knowing you all.”

Belladonna hid her trepidation from the other Champions. She didn’t have the best of luck with mazes (it had taken her the entirety of three summers to memorize _Surrey_ , for Merlin’s sake), and even in Hogwarts she got…directionally challenged when venturing into the lower levels and the sixth floor ( _the sixth floor is dangerous,_ the Weasley Twins had explained, unusually solemn, _it changes every day, and the terrain is never the same. We once had it switch from a jungle to scorching desert on the way to Charms)_. Added to the fact that they were to enter the maze one at a time based on their previous scores, which meant that…she was going last (she hadn’t scored very well with the dragon. Apparently, intimidating it with fire and hissing in Parseltongue got points deducted). The three older champions would be going before her, and by a significant amount of time as well, and she would not be able to follow them easily. She could only hope that Fleur at least left a trail of fire and destruction behind her.

The Frenchwoman had a temper that few could match.

Belladonna cast her eyes to the stands, picking out Luna’s blonde curls easily, the ash brown of Theo almost lost in the gathering gloom. She couldn’t see their eyes, but she knew that they were focused on her, Luna most likely gripping Theo’s hand in an attempt to stop it shaking. The repercussions of the Second Task and the subsequent daily trash rag were still ongoing, even in May, and Theo, whom had been forced home for the Ostara holidays, still bore the marks from his father’s ‘lessons’. The oddball trio, as such, had closed ranks to the point where only a very select few could even speak to them. They may have been removed from the day to day dramas of the school before fourth year had started, now, they were downright _isolated_. The placement tests they had taken for Durmstrang and Mahoutokoro had been difficult, but not overly so, but they had yet to hear back from Professor Liert (whom had been summoned back to Durmstrang by an emergency Floo last week), and Umino-sensei (although Belladonna wasn’t sure that the tests had arrived in Japan yet), but all three of them were getting twitchy. Herself especially; she had almost sliced up the gossipy peasant when the girl had brushed against her bed.

“The Champion in first place, Viktor Krum, has entered the maze!”

The wires were slowly entangling them, and soon enough, they would draw taunt, and they would be flies trapped in a web ( _come into my parlour,_ said the spider to the fly). But the question which kept circling around her head; who was the spider waiting at the top of the stairs? Who was the person pulling all the strings, the mastermind behind the traps and her missing memories, the architect behind the walls and the cage?

“Cedric Diggory has entered the maze!”

What horrors awaited her in the Third Task? Would she be able to see her Theo and her Luna afterward? She hadn’t been able to say goodbye; she had been pushed towards the tent to wait before a word had exited her mouth, the trio separated once more, two to watch, one to compete, and she hated the organizers for denying her a small moment of peace. Fleur likewise had been pulled away from her sister and her classmates, Gabrielle screaming in French for her sister to come back to her alive. Aleksander Krum had refused to let go of his brother, and he had to be stunned, Viktor under wand point to enter the tent, a friend of his gathering the small boy in his arms and stalking back to the ship. Cho had been crying, one of her friends and a Hufflepuff Chaser holding her back, Cedric managing to sneak in a last kiss before some Ministry official had pulled him into the tent.

“Fleur Delacour has entered the maze!”

All of the Champions had almost refused to participate in this task, a feeling of unease crawling up and down their spines. Whatever would happen tonight, they had all agreed, they would face it together, and go down fighting. Their faces had been resolute and grim, the Tournament having long since ceased to be a competition, now a fight for survival. The Second Task had only solidified the fact, the First Task had been no ‘friendly’ test of courage. People had died in the bloody Tournament, and Belladonna would be damned before she let anyone else of hers do so as well. Luna had been tense, eyes unseeing for most of the day, Theo had been casting the runes relentlessly all morning as the pervading feeling of _wrongness_ infused them.

A hand on her shoulder startled her, and she snarled, knife glinting as she sliced through the wrist, blood splattering across her face. The Ministry goon stared uncomprehendingly at the bloody stump, face white, and Belladonna gave him a cruel smile.

“Do not touch me, peasant.” She made her way towards the door that led out into the maze, knife hidden away once more, and crouched down, eyeing the numbers that counted down to her admission into the maze from Hell. Beside her, the crouching peasant sneered at her with distaste, and she spared a roll of her eyes just for him. The peasant who had dared to touch her had started screaming, and she smiled. The numbers reached 10.

Her muscles tensed, ready to break into a sprint as soon as she was able, determined to find the others as soon as possible.

The numbers turned red.

.

_5_

_4_

_3_

_2_

_1_

_0_

.

_Begin._

.

.

The pretty red disintegrated the….thing that looked like a firecrab but it wasn’t, and Fleur sliced through a boggart with a silver whip, the boggart howling as it vanished. Back to back, the two women made their way through the maze, circling the whole time, turning corners cautiously. It had been sheer luck that Belladonna had caught up to Fleur, blasting another strange creature before it could sink it’s teeth into the Frenchwoman’s leg. She was also very sure that she had seen an Acromantula scuttling about somewhere, but she didn’t get a definite look. Neither of the two had seen nor heard anything from Viktor and Cedric, and Belladonna hoped that they had managed to find each other at least. It was definitely easier navigating the maze with two, rather than one.

Fleur swore at length when they turned a corner, coming face to face with the death-ghosts ( _Dementors, Belladonna_ , Theo had corrected. _Demented naming sense,_ she had retorted), but Belladonna was already intoning the necessary spell, fury underlying her magic. Black Magic screeched in delight, and Peverell grinned, the fox Patronus streaked through with black and red slamming into the Dementor and eradicating it from existence. There was a wave of noise from the stands, but Belladonna ignored it, drawing a knife and sending it spinning towards the shadows, a high pitched shriek dying off as quickly as it had sounded.

“ _Where is the damn Bulgarian?”_ Fleur snarled.

“ _Hopefully with Cedric.”_ Belladonna answered, pulling Fleur around another corner, and stopping dead when she saw the stupid cup that they were ‘fighting’ for.

“ _Merde._ ” Fleur breathed, before diving forward, Belladonna on her heels, using Potter Magic to reshape her knives into something longer ( _Potter to shape and change)_ as she slammed into an Acromantula the size of a small horse, Cedric rolling underneath it to cast a blasting hex to its underbelly, the guts exploding onto him.

Another took its place, and Belladonna soon found herself next to Viktor, the Bulgarian not pulling his punches as Dark curses flowed from his lips, ever careful not to let them stray too close to the others, and several spiders liquidized and expanded before exploding. Other just dropped, dead from Morgana knew what. She spun under his arm and skewered another spider (dog size, how many were there?), yanking the twin katanas out of the corpse and slicing the legs of another. There was a shout, and a solid mass barrelled into her, slamming her against the solid pedestal that held the damn cup, blood dripping onto her face from the spider carcass. She wiped it out of her eyes, her elbow knocking the cup behind her…

.

She vanished.

.

Fleur screamed, and the arena lit up in fire.

.

.

Belladonna found herself in a graveyard, creepy angels surrounding her, and a stunner smacking her in the face.

She came to, tied to a creepy angel, a cauldron bubbling next to her. Next to the cauldron was a short, squat man that reminded her of a rat, and some weird looking baby thing that was too pale to be normal ( _Homunculus,_ Potter whispered, _fake body. Death comes soon for this one,_ Peverell soothed, and Black snarled _ABOMINATION)_. The headstone she was tied next to bore the name of an insignificant Muggle peasant, but Peverell nagged her to pay attention, because it was important. Potter was chanting something about building and rebuilding, but she tuned it out, because _now_ was the time her magic went crazy? She eyed the now boiling cauldron with trepidation. Black was silent, observing, and she mentally catalogued all the ingredients that she could see, frowning when they added up to a potion that was incomplete. It was similar to a rejuvenation potion of sorts, yet…

“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!”

Belladonna stared at the rat peasant, before her eyes were drawn to the grave, where a few bones and some dust emerged, floating over to the cauldron and, when submerged, turned into a strange orange colour. She narrowed her eyes, the colour reminding her of something she had read from a book Aunt Narcissa had lent her.

“Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master.” Belladonna watched in fascination as the rat peasant held up a meat cleaver, and sliced through his arm, his left hand dropping into the cauldron with a splash. Pretty red blood splattered on the grass, and her gaze was drawn to it without her permission, laughter ringing in her mind, an image of a blond doing the same with a sword, before fighting a hulking mass. The potion turned into a sickly yellow, and Black screamed a warning that Belladonna did not need to hear. She knew exactly what potion it was now, had read it, had heard Aunt Narcissa curse and damn it, and had studied it so she knew how to avoid or neutralize it, should she ever come across the peasants who dared to use it.

A regeneration potion, to restore a body. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out _who_ would try to regain their body.

Voldemort.

Her parent’s murderer.

Potter screamed for vengeance. Peverell howled for justice. Black laughed, and demanded blood.

.

“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.” The rat peasant approached her, and she remained still as he sliced her arm, resisting the reflex to stab him in the throat or gut him like the many rats she had consulted the Oracle with. The blood oozed out of her arm and into a small chalice, and the rat peasant turned to pour it into the cauldron.

“Blood of mine, willingly given, to deny my foe his resurrection.” She chanted the ritual words moments before her blood hit the water, and her magic surged. The potion turned black instead of red, and the rat peasant, stupid as he was, did not notice the difference as he placed the baby into the boiling water.

.

The homunculus screeched, and black smoke poured out of its mouth as the body disintegrated in the black potion, an eerie wailing echoing across the graveyard as multiple clouds of black smoke streamed in from different directions and flowed into the cauldron, and the noise grew to unbearable levels. Belladonna screamed as the screeching reached a crescendo, and tried to block her ears, but her hands were tied fast. She couldn’t even hear _herself_ screaming. The rat peasant collapsed from pain and blood loss, and Belladonna slumped against the ropes, watching as the cauldron bubbled and absorbed the dark clouds, before it cleared, and became still and translucent. Black purred in pleasure, and Potter crowed victory, while Peverell assured her that Voldemort was dead.

She felt ill, and wanted nothing more to throw up, when there was a pop, and the stupid cup disappeared, taking with it her chances of escape. Time release, then. She closed her eyes, and tried to bring her red fire to her fingertips, but her hands only heated up.

_No._

Had her magic been stripped from her? Did the contract of the tournament deem her efforts not good enough, and exacted the ultimate price? Yet, she could still hear the Triumvirate Houses whispering in the back of her mind, a dull hum, but she couldn’t even…

The contract.

The goddamn _contract._ Was it still binding? She had reached the cup, after all, so she had technically won, but…if it wasn’t the real cup… _no._ She couldn’t…not her pretty red…she’d been kidnapped, she hadn’t been trying to run away. Had it bound her magic, enough that she could still hear it, but never to use it again? She tried to call the pretty red to her fingers once more, her hands barely heating up this time, and she strained, biting her lower lip in concentration. Just a little more….

She screamed in frustration when the heat vanished, feeling the hot salt of tears on her cheeks. She had been so close…she tried to summon Peverell ( _deathmagic)_ , summon Potter ( _chaosmagic)_ , summon Black ( _darkmagic)_ , but they didn’t answer.

She could hear them, but they could not hear her.

.

_No._

_._

_No no no nononononononono._

.

.

She screamed into the sky, heedless of the tears on her face, the sound of agony and frustration ringing across the graveyard and echoing over the rolling hills.

.

.

.

.

.

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.

**Omake**

**.**

**Ring Battles- Storm**

“Come on, Yosei.” Lussuria breathed, and Xanxus let a tendril of his flame wrap around the Sun. The Storm Battle so far had been the most brutal, fast paced battle yet, beating Sun out in terms of blood spilt and explosive action. IN both senses of the word. Xanxus could immediately pinpoint that although Yosei had faced explosives experts sometime in their career, the Storm brat was a whole other level above most of them. He had been a genius, even at eight when he had, petulantly, demanded entry into the VARIA, and now…Xanxus could recognise Shamal’s influence. Eight minutes in, and already most of the third floor was destroyed, Yosei hunting down the Storm brat like a wolf, and forcing him to fight close quarters.

It wasn’t working.

Yosei was good, the plan was flawless, bar the fact that the Storm Administrator didn’t take into account the Storm brat’s genius. And now, Xanxus could only be thankful that the Storm brat didn’t use wires like Belphegor did (he ignored the pang of agony that lanced through his chest). Yosei would be ribbons by now. Yosei was still fighting, but it was mostly defence, and Xanxus knew the Storm to be berating themselves for the lack of foresight.

“Voi, Yosei will be fine.” Squalo brushed his fingers against Lussuria’s, and the Sun relaxed an infinitesimal amount. Slaugh, standing next to Squalo with Mammon on their shoulder, narrowed their eyes at the screens, before they widened. They had forgone the Cloud staring contest tonight, the other Cloud just as pre-occupied with eh destruction of his precious school.

“And the trap is sprung.” They whispered, and Squalo shot them a confused look.

“Voi, what do you…?”

There was a flash of light, and an explosion rocked the ground, the screen fizzling, then dissolving into static as the connection was lost, Yosei with it.

“Fuck.” Xanxus breathed, directing his gaze to the building, before realizing that they were on the wrong side to see anything. Xanxus hadn’t even seen it, how had Slaugh…?

“No.” Lussuria choked out, gripping the back of Xanxus’ throne in order to retain some semblance of control. Xanxus felt the surge of Rain Flames and added his own Sky, but Lussuria didn’t seem to feel it. Slaugh took a deep breath, most likely trying to remain in control as well. Yosei and Slaugh made a good team, and the Storm had taken the cloudling under their wing while getting the Cloud Division sorted. Slaugh was attached, and quite thoroughly as well. He wasn’t expecting her to speak, though.

“Godukera is exiting the building. He is lacking a considerable amount of explosives.” Good eyesight, Xanxus had only just picked up the white splodge that was the Storm brat’s hair.

“Traps, most likely.” Mammon explained, “Smoking Bomb Hayato is well known for them.”

“Voi, does he have the ring?”

“Not that I can see.” Slaugh replied, a strange tone in their voice. “But according to my watch, Yosei has approximately 2 minutes before the building explodes from the original explosives.”

As if Slaugh had summoned the Storm, Yosei appeared on the screen, second floor, dragging themselves towards the stairs. There was a gasp from the brats, and a retching sound from possibly the Rain brat, as the full extent of the damage to the Storm Officer became clear. Both legs were a bloody mess, and one was definitely broken, a bone sticking out of their calf. In fact, there wasn’t much of the Storm Officer that _wasn’t_ covered in blood of some kind. Still, Yosei continued to pull themselves towards the stairs, agony written across every line on their face, determination in their eyes. Xanxus swallowed. There wasn’t enough time…

.

“Yosei will not make it out in time.” It was Mammon that delivered these words, horror mingled with helplessness, and Xanxus felt, rather than saw, his Sun snap.

“YOSEI!” Lussuria shot off towards the collapsing building, blurring past the confused Storm genius, who had just exited.

“Hey, wait….”

“VOI! LUSSURIA GET BACK HERE!”

“Lussuria…” Xanxus growled, standing to follow, only for Slaugh to push him back down into his chair as she sped past, Mammon jumping onto his shoulder.

“Wait, I’ll go.”

“Slaugh!” He snapped, but she was already catching up to Lussuria.

“Voi, boss, Slaugh hasn’t had training for this.”

“I know.” Xanxus cast his gaze to the screens, where the bloodied and battered, but still alive, Yosei was dragging themselves towards the exit, the leg wound gushing blood, and a head wound blinding them. They were going at a steady pace, but Xanxus could tell that it wouldn’t be enough to get clear of the building before it blew.

“Damn the Cervello trash.” He growled, fingers clenching the wooden armrests hard enough to splinter them. “How is the Cloud brat not eviscerating them for bombing his territory?”

“Promise of a good fight, voi.” Squalo winced. “There might not be one of Slaugh gets trapped in there.”

“Lussuria and Slaugh have reached Yosei.” Mammon reported, and as one, all eyes fixed to the screen, the flamboyant Sun hoisting the injured Storm over their shoulder.

“Idiot, why did you come after me?” Yosei groaned, and Lussuria snarled.

“We did not escape the damn rings and be chased across Asia just for you to die in a fucking school, Yosei. It’s not like you to give up, so don’t.”

“Inspirational, Officer Lussuria.” Slaugh deadpanned, holding the door open. “Let’s move. Thirty seconds.”

“Fuck!” Yosei yelled as their broken leg was jolted. “I’ll kill the damn storm brat!”

“Later.” Lussuria huffed, thundering down the stairs, Slaugh on their heels.

“Ten seconds.” Slaugh snapped as they turned a sharp corner. “Exit straight ahea….”

Slaugh was cut off as the ceiling collapsed between Lussuria and herself, and Xanxus grimaced as the Cloud slammed into it and bounced off, smacking their head against a wall.

“SLAUGH!”

“MOVE! GET OUTSIDE!” Slaugh shouted back. Xanxus did the math. _Five seconds._ He lost sight of Slaugh as plaster rained down, Lussuria and Yosei making it out the front door just as the clock reached zero.

.

.

The upper floors exploded.

.

A window on the second floor shattered, the tiny figure of his Cloud flying through the air, propelled further by the explosion on the second floor, made his stomach drop at the sub-par landing, the small Cloud rolling a couple of times and then laying still, chest rising and falling erratically.

“How did they…” Mammon gaped.

“Voi, the cloudling has been hiding things.” Squalo narrowed his eyes. “They couldn’t move that fast before.”

“Clever little cloudling.” Xanxus chuckled darkly. “They have a lot of enemies right now, most of Ottabio’s followers, and most likely Levi. Hiding what they could do means they have an advantage on the field.”

“Voi, I wish we could just kill Levi and be done with it. Where is the shitty Lightning anyway?”

“Mou, he wasn’t at the hotel last night. Mumbled something about a drink and never came back after his fight against the Bovino brat.”

“Shitty Lightning.” Squalo mumbled, making his towards the cloudling. “Voi, Slaugh, what hurts?”

“A better question would be, what doesn’t hurt?” Slaugh groaned, and their hand flopped around, the normal dismissive wave amusingly sloppy. “The answer is, nothing. Fuck that was a bad landing. I didn’t factor in the explosion buffer.”

“Voi, silly cloudling.” Squalo hauled them up, and the cloudling wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“I know. Is Yosei alright?”

“Heavy blood loss, the broken leg, greenstick fracture in the opposite femur, mild concussion. The Storm brat had the ring in his pocket, which was why we couldn’t see it.”

“Damn.” Slaugh coughed, and a small speck of blood landed on their hand. “I may have cracked a rib. It can wait though.” Squalo set the silly cloudling next to Yosei, who was, miraculously, still conscious enough to grit out an apology.

“Sorry, Boss. I failed.” Xanxus stood from his throne, and made his way over, ruffling Slaugh’s hair as he went past and ignoring the snarl, and crouched down to stare Yosei in the eye.

“Your life is worth more than a stupid ring, Yosei. Don’t forget that.” Xanxus reached forward, and wiped a bit of blood from Yosei’s forehead. Curse the shitty old man for putting him in this position, where his own Officers, interim or otherwise, were doubting themselves and their usefulness, and he himself was internally a nervous wreck.

“How did he get your legs?”

“He didn’t.” Yosei snarled. “He got the wall next to me, and the ceiling above. It took me ten minutes to extract myself from the rubble. Fucking coward didn’t have the balls to go for me directly, and took the ring while I was trapped.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“Boss, I…”

“Yosei.” Xanxus interrupted, voice low, gaze piercing. Yosei shut up. “It doesn’t matter. This is a test for them. The Storm brat is a genius, with or without explosives. You fought well, now rest. I need you up and about for tomorrow.”

“Yes, boss.” Yosei slumped into the ground, eyes closing, and Lussuria gave Xanxus a sharp look.

“Yosei won’t be able to do much tomorrow, Boss. I can fix the leg, but it will take me a while, and it will be at least a week before Yosei will be cleared for combat.”

“I know, Luss.” Xanxus let the nickname slip out before he’d realized it, and Lussuria stared at him, eyes wide. Xanxus continued. “I just need them present, even if they are in a wheelchair. Tomorrow…” Xanxus trailed off. _Will be difficult for everyone_ , went unsaid, but his Sun knew it regardless.

“Understood, Xanxus.” Lussuria murmured, and gestured to Slaugh to help move the injured Storm, Mammon disappearing to go track down the traitorous Lightning trash.

.

“The Storm battle goes to the Tenth Generation.” The Cervello concluded, the brat’s Storm yelling in celebration, the Sun brat shouting ‘ _EXTREME WIN!’_ and bouncing around the fluffball and the little Mist, both of whom looked a little overwhelmed, the little Mist looking sickly and paler than normal. _It must have been her that had thrown up_ , Xanxus concluded, eyeing the Rain brat, who was strangely silent and distant, and the Cloud brat, who was staring at Slaugh with an unreadable expression on his face. Xanxus allowed an amused smile cross his face at the thought of the Cloud Battle, before it dropped at the Cervello’s next words.

“Next is the Rain Battle. Meet here tomorrow at 2100.”

Three more battles. He had to make it through three more battles.

.

Curse the fucking shitty old man.

.

.

.

.

**Ring Battles- Rain**

“Squalo.”

His Rain turned to face him, prosthetic already attached and gleaming with a wicked edge, hair tightly braided back, interweaved with blue feathers and a couple of red ones that _happened_ to match the colour of Xanxus’ Flames (damn his Sun for doing that).

“Voi, Xanxus, I’ll be fine.” Squalo murmured, stepping a little closer than was normal. Xanxus twitched, gut churning uncomfortably. Once again, his Rain was unusually perceptive, and the use of his ‘given’ name only solidified that fact. Squalo rarely used it, only in dire situations (usually when a mission had gone south and there was no other way to notify him), and almost always in private when he did so.

“I…just…” Xanxus floundered for words, not a feeling he liked. But this was _Squalo._ The crazy sword-wielding shark who had given him a new purpose, a new direction in life when he was drowning under the expectations of the shitty old man who dared to call himself Xanxus’ father when he clearly wasn’t. His first _Guardian_ , his first _friend_. They had known each other for years before Xanxus had even considered VARIA, and now…

“Xanxus.” Squalo let his hand brush against Xanxus’ shoulders, and a small tendril of Tranquility rolled down his spine. “I’ll be fine. Voi, I’ll rough up the brat a little, maybe give him some tips, take the ring, and leave.”

“The Cervello…” Xanxus began, knowing that the traitorous pink-haired trash were only in it for the money, and would not hesitate to throw something nasty in there.

“Mammon is watching them.” Squalo reassured his Sky, but Xanxus wasn’t convinced. He would have liked Yosei to watch, but the Storm was high on pain-killers and suffering from a concussion, so they weren’t very observant. Slaugh was once more locked into a staring contest with the Cloud brat, the two exchanging various death threats in different languages once they had seen each other, the Cloud brat furious about the destruction that was wrought to his precious school (the Cloud brat was fluent in various Chinese dialects. It was impressive), before falling silent and perching on opposite walls. He didn’t understand why, but Mammon had mentioned that it was a Cloud thing. Xanxus still didn’t know what Slaugh’s Territory was, but it obviously clashed with the Cloud brat’s.

“Xanxus.” Squalo called, grabbing his attention, before Xanxus found himself wrapped in his Rain’s embrace, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. He stiffened, but the Rain still held him. “Voi, shitty boss,” the Rain chuckled in his ear, Xanxus tentatively wrapping his arms around the blond, “don’t be so nervous. The brat isn’t even sixteen. I won’t go easy on him, but I won’t try to kill him. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m allowed to worry.” Xanxus huffed. The moment was broken by Lussuria’s cry of ‘ _group hug!’_ and the Sun all but tackled them, Squalo immediately shouting and threatening the Sun, both of them thankfully ignoring the moment of weakness their Sky had displayed. He could only thank fate that the traitor Lightning wasn’t around; Mammon had seen him floating around the red light district a couple of towns over, and he was sufficiently occupied.

.

“The Rain Battle will now begin.” Xanxus glared at the pink-haired woman, revelling a little in the flinch it garnered, and then slumped onto his throne, eyes fixed on his Rain as the blond made his way to the…was that a _tank._

“The shark is fighting in a fishbowl.” Yosei slurred, and Xanxus had to turn his head to hide a smirk as Lussuria and Mammon sniggered. Slaugh twitched.

“I dare you to tell him that, Yosei.” Lussuria smirked. “If only to see his reaction.” Yosei started to sing some weird song about baby sharks and dinner, but most of the words were unintelligible.

.

“VOI!! RAIN BRAT, GET YOUR BUTT OVER HERE!!!”

“I see Officer Squalo is as eager as always.” Slaugh commented, and Lussuria did laugh, leaning on Yosei’s wheelchair.

“He’s got history with the Yamamoto’s. Rain brat’s grandfather almost took his head as a kid, brat’s father was his rival in the assassin business. They get along well now, but before the _Ao no Shinigami_ retired…”

“Joy.” Mammon sighed. “Mou, boss, the Cervello must be almost out of money for this. The tank is substandard, and the pressure release on it looks faulty.”

That did not help, and his anxiety decided to ratchet itself up a few more levels. Why the heck would _anyone_ skimp on a pressure release? One small crack and the whole thing would shatter. He eyed the Rain brat as the boy unslung the famous sword that had carved its way through hundreds, if not thousands, and had almost carved through his Rain. He could see Squalo eyeing it with distaste, but thankfully, the Rain Officer didn’t say anything to the brat, only leading the way into the tank, tossing something over his shoulder to the Rain brat, who laughed when he caught it.

“What was that?” He asked his Officers, his eyes still being a little funny after the ice. He should probably mention it to Lussuria, in case the Zero Point Breakthrough had some hidden damage that his Sun hadn’t picked up yet.

“Glove.” Slaugh answered. “The challenge is now formally issued between the two swordsman, and as such, it laid out the rules of combat between the two. It’s common etiquette.”

“One day, Slaugh,’ Lussuria sighed, ‘we will find out how you know the strangest stuff, including archaic forms of issuing challenges, but you haven’t heard of _Queen_ or _Bowie._ ”

“You’re joking.” Xanxus deadpanned, and Lussuria shook their head.

“Nope. Cloudling hadn’t even listened to _Bohemian Rhapsody_ , let alone any Ziggy Stardust.”

“Quiet.” Mammon scolded. “Squalo is about to start.”

.

“Begin!”

.

It was fast, elegant, and almost otherworldly, the way the two swordsmen danced about each other, water flooding the tank steadily. The blond and the brunet glided and whirled, water splashing up around their legs, swords moving too fast for Xanxus to keep up. He could, however, see the cuts that appeared on the Rain brat’s body. There were a few on Squalo’s legs as well, and Xanxus upgraded his assessment of the Rain brat. His father had clearly trained him well, well enough to catch his Rain off guard a few times, and he could probably provide adequate protection to the fluffball. All he needed was a few more years’ experience fighting swordsmen of Squalo’s calibre, of which there were perhaps two, including the brat’s father.

Predictably, it all went to shit.

.

“Water level reached. Releasing the beast.”

.

Both fighters stopped, and stared around the water, before Squalo shouted, picked up the Rain brat and threw him towards a platform, the Rain brat hauling himself up with ease, while Squalo eyed the water around him, prosthetic steadily dripping water. Even from here, Xanxus could see the tension lining his Rain’s shoulders and posture, before the Rain relaxed. Not in relief, but in preparation to move, and move fast as a moment’s notice.

“Slaugh.” Xanxus demanded, and Slaugh obliged.

“It’s hard to see, but there is a shadow currently circling Officer Superbi, almost like a…” Slaugh trails off, and Xanxus growls.

“Like a what, Officer?”

“Like a shark, Boss.” Slaugh bit out. “Tiger shark, by the looks of it.” Xanxus swore. Squalo throwing the kid out of the water made sense now; both of them were oozing blood, but the brat had far more cuts than Squalo. Assassins they may be, but killing kids was a big no-no. They weren’t heartless. Now, if only his Rain would _get out of the damn water._ Squalo dodged to the side, stabbing his sword down, cursing as he missed. The Rain brat moved to the edge of the platform, wobbling a little on his sliced up legs, and readied his sword as Squalo edged his way closer to the brat, the shark following him slowly. Squalo snapped something out, most likely a plan, and the Rain brat nodded, shifting his grip on the sword.

The shark circled once more, and then it attacked.

“VOI!” Squalo bellowed, and the Rain brat jumped off the platform sword point first, to land on top of the shark, stabbing it clean through as Squalo stabbed it through the mouth, the teeth clamping around the prosthetic and no doubt denting it. The shark thrashed, Squalo twisted his arm, and the Rain brat yanked his sword sideways, before extracting it and vaulting off the writhing body, and the two made their way to the exit as the shark continued to twist in its death throes. They both dived underwater, the pressure release completely submerged now, Squalo heaving the door open, pushing the brat inside and slamming it shut, the brat completely focused on holding his breath. Squalo then hooked his legs around the brat and wedged his sword between the grating, remaining hand gripping it tightly, before kicking the lever to open the other door, water rushing out, both Rains taking a moment to gulp in air (Squalo less obviously than the Rain brat), before they both dropped to the floor.

“Voi, brat, do you want the shark carcass?” The Rain brat stared at Squalo.

“ _Nani?_ What for?”

“Voi, doesn’t your old man run a sushi place now?”

“ _Hai._ ” The Rain brat confirmed. “But shark isn’t on the menu. Sharks are bad for your health.” The two Rains looked at each other, before breaking out into muffled sniggers, leaning against each other as hysteria finally took over. Xanxus sighed. _Rain humour, ugh._ Lussuria agreed with him, if the rolled eyes were any indication.

“Remind me to drag Squalo in for a psych exam.” Lussuria groaned. “I’ll see if I can fix his sense of humour.”

.

“The Ring Battle goes to the VARIA.” Cervello announced, and Xanxus frowned as the Rain brat stiffened, hand going immediately to his neck, before looking at Squalo, who was tossing the completed ring up and down in his hand. When had…? When they were laughing, Xanxus realised. They had been leaning against each other, and Squalo had swiped the ring with his prosthetic, without anyone noticing. _Clever Rain._

“Voi, you’re about twenty years too late to get one over on me, brat!” Squalo laughed, and the Rain brat smiled at him.

“Maa, I’ll get you next time.” He grinned, and Squalo laughed again, giving the brat a cheerful wave as he headed back over to Xanxus.

.

“The next battle will be the Battle of the Mist. Meet here at 1900.”

Four down, two to go. Xanxus could hardly wait for this to be over.

.

Curse the fucking shitty old man. Curse him to the darkest depths of Hell.

.


	12. Be All My Sins Remembered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...be all my sins remembered." Hamlet, William Shakespeare
> 
> .
> 
> "Ru Ana Te Whenua." Alien Weaponry (Go check them out, so AMAZING! 0_o)
> 
> .

The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed throughout the hospital wing, and Belladonna sat completely and utterly still, cheek smarting from the slap.

“Tell me, niece, when did all your common sense flee?”

In front of her, eyes ablaze with rage (there was worry, and fear, but Belladonna wisely didn’t mention it), Lady Narcissa Malfoy stared down at her with all the disdain she could scrounge. Pinned by her gaze, Belladonna felt very much like a bug about to be squashed by Lady Malfoy’s heels. She opened her mouth to answer, or apologize, but Lady Malfoy held up a pale finger, effectively silencing her.

“Malfoy Manor has a telephone. I distinctly remember making you and young Ms Lovegood memorise it until you could recite it in your _sleep._ ” Yes, that had been a very fun week over the summer holidays, before they had been discovered and she had been sent back to the giraffe.

“I also remember telling you that certain books that were included in my dowry were not to be touched under any circumstances. Including the one bound in human skin written by our ancestor, Eridanus Black.”

Belladonna shrunk back against her pillows, and tried very hard not to look guilty. She had obviously failed, but what did she expect? Aunt Narcissa was a Malfoy by marriage, but she had been and always would be a Black at heart. Belladonna could only be thankful that the Hospital Wing had cleared out as soon as the full weight of Lady Malfoy’s magic had been felt at the front gates. Not many cared to remember, but Narcissa Black had been a frontline fighter for the Knights of Walpurgis before they had had changed to Death Eaters and she had gotten pregnant with the ferret peasant. Truly, she pitied Aunt Narcissa for having such a stupid son. Even now, however, Aunt Narcissa was a very skilled Healer, and was more than capable of wiping the floor with any Auror that dared to challenge her.

“Aunt Narcissa, I…”

“ _Be. Silent.”_ Narcissa hissed, and Belladonna flinched as Black magic, matured in a way hers wouldn’t be until she reached her majority, lashed around the room, shattering the jug of water that sat on the bedside table, and slicing the ‘get well’ flowers in half.

“I commend you on furthering your education in such a way. However, Eridanus Black was more often than not on the wrong side of the law. You should not had even _thought_ about neutralizing the ritual the way you did.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Belladonna snarled, leaning forward and clenching at the coarse bedsheets. “Or would you rather your husband be enslaved to a madman once more?”

“Yes!” Narcissa snapped back. “If it meant that you were safe!”

“I did what was necessary!”

“You are a child!” Narcissa screamed, and all the windows in the Hospital Wing shattered. Belladonna stared, eyes wide, at the loss of control. Aunt Narcissa took a visible effort to calm down, pinning her with a glare.

“You are a child, Belladonna.” She continued, mildly calmer. “You should not have been in that position in the first place.”

“The cup…”

“Was a fake. The real Goblet of Fire was hidden in the Defence Professor’s office.” Narcissa interrupted. “The real Alastor Moody was found in a trunk, half-starved and half-dead. The imposter dropped dead an hour after you disappeared. It has been concluded that it was he who entered your name in the tournament. He had also cast the stasis spell on the younger Delacour, and had released more Acromantula into the maze than was planned.” Narcissa hesitated for the barest moment, before continuing on.

“His name was Barty Crouch Junior. The man who was found next to you was Peter Pettigrew. Both Death Eaters. Sirius Black has a trial scheduled for next week. As Heiress Black, you are expected to attend.”

“Do you think I should go?” Belladonna asked, unsure. Narcissa sighed, deflating, and pulled up a chair.

“As a member of House Black, I would say that it is only proper that you go. As your Aunt and personal Healer, I would say no. Your magic…” and like that, Narcissa switched back to being mad.

“You are incredibly fortunate that you did not lose it! In fact, it is most likely the fact that you are Heiress to _three_ Ancient Houses that you did not lose it altogether! The shock would have killed you, should have killed you! It is a miracle that you are alive, and you are very lucky that the Unspeakable’s are not here to drag you away for testing. The fact that you are only suffering from _extreme_ magical exhaustion and a mild cold solidifies that. That particular ritual calls for three casters, and if you didn’t have three Houses to call upon, and such large reserves, we would be holding a wake and not having this conversation.”

Belladonna hung her head, and tried very hard not to break down. It had been a rough few hours, and all she wanted to do was sleep, but she knew that she deserved this telling off. She had been stupid- desperate, but stupid- and now she was paying the price.

“I hope you have learned from this _very_ costly lesson.” Narcissa finished tartly, and Belladonna nodded. It had been dawn by the time the Aurors had found her, slumped against the ropes that tied her to the stone angel, defeated and exhausted, wrists bleeding form the effort of trying to escape, with only a dead body for company. It had been the bones peasant’s aunt whom had taken it upon herself to cut the ropes and drape her robes over Belladonna, careful not to touch her. It had been Auror Tonks ( _BlackmagicBlackprotection)_ whom had stood guard until they were ready to Apparate back to the school, the Metamorphagus cradling her gently, as if she might break, and fending off those who were shouting questions. It had also been Auror Tonks who had notified Aunt Narcissa of her condition, and had stood guard against the school Medi-Witch who had tried to shove potions down her throat, several of which she was allergic to.

“I am sorry, Aunt Narcissa.” Belladonna mumbled, examining the coarse bedsheet. A slender finger, covered in old scars, tilted her chin up, and silver eyes held her in place.

“Do not be sorry for living, but do not forget this conversation, Belladonna. If you pull a stunt like this again, I _will_ toss you on the duelling grounds myself.”

“Yes, Aunt Narcissa.” She replied obediently, and Narcissa leant in, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“Silly little raven.” She murmured, drawing Belladonna into a somewhat stiff and unpractised hug, but it was the thought that counted. Blacks, in general, weren’t big on physical contact, purebloods less so (unless it was in combat, because Cousin Nymphadora had a nasty left hook and an equally monstrous kick), so the fact that the normally uptight Narcissa Malfoy willingly initiated a hug…

“Stop smirking, Belladonna. It is most unladylike.” Narcissa scolded, a teasing glint in her eyes, and Belladonna shrugged, Narcissa detaching herself and standing up straight, fixing her robes with a flick of her wrist.

“Behave, niece of mine. Please let me know if you require transport to your godfather’s trial, should you wish to go.”

“I shall. Thank you, Aunt Narcissa, for your help.” Narcissa sniffed haughtily.

“ _Tojours Pur_ , little raven. May Hecate bless you.”

“May the Morrigan guide you.”

Narcissa swept out of the Hospital Wing, magic once more cloaking her, passing Theo and Luna as they snuck in through the doors while the nurse peasant was occupied, offering a nod to the two. Theo bowed, Luna nodded back, and they both flew to her bedside, Luna crushing her into a hug as soon as she was able.

“Idiot.” She sniffed, Belladonna almost choking on blonde curls.

“You’re injured.” Theo stated, eyes fixating on the bandage that wrapped around her forearm where the rat peasant had cut her for the blood. Belladonna met his gaze, and shrugged.

“It’s just a flesh wound, Theo.”

“Just a….” Theo trailed off, turning away to stare at the broken windows, muttering a repairing charm with an unusual amount of venom, movements jerky and harsh.

“You disappeared for over six hours, Belladonna.” Luna informed her. “We were worried. And then the Defence Professor dropped dead for no apparent reason, and he had a Dark Mark on his forearm, and then we heard that you had been rescued but we _couldn’t see you_ and…”  
“Luna.” Belladonna interrupted. “I am fine.”

“Like hell you are, Bel.” Theo snapped, green fire wrapping around his arm. “Extreme magical exhaustion is not something to laugh at. You won’t be able to cast spells for over two weeks, three at most. That’s three weeks of being in the firing line. Three weeks not being able to cast a _lumos_ , let alone a _protegeo._ I don’t share all my classes with you. What if Weasley decides that now is the time to drug you with a love potion, since your Familie Magiks are dormant until you have recovered? What if the older Slytherins choose to pick you off in the hallway? In the library? We can’t be everywhere.”

“Fleur, Viktor and Cedric have offered to watch you during class times.” Luna added. “But none of them are allowed in Gryffindor Tower. You don’t have any allies in there, except perhaps Heir Longbottom and Dean Thomas, but they can’t be in the girl’s dorm.”

“Where the bushy peasant lies in wait.” Belladonna muttered. “The chatty peasant and the gossipy peasant won’t dare stand in her way, and Fay…” There was still no word from the brunette, and Belladonna was slowly but surely losing her mind over it. 

“There is another two options.” Theo spoke from the windows, staring out across the ground. “And that is you ask the House Elves to show you to the guest quarters. The only problem with that is that we risk the elves telling the teachers and the Headmaster where you are, which undoubtedly means that you will have to return to your dorms, regardless. You may get away with a few days in there, but that will not nearly be enough to replenish your magic in peace.”

“That is not favourable.” Luna interjected. “Simply because you will lack protection while in these quarters. Too much traffic going in and out of a previously abandoned area will not only give hints to the staff about your whereabouts (if we got the House Elves to remain silent on the matter), but also to the rest of the school, where no doubt you will be pestered for information that the Aurors and staff on-scene would not be willing to give.”

“And the second option?” Belladonna leaned back into the pillows, her back starting to ache a little.

“You stay in our room. Move everything manually, procure some bedding from somewhere, and don’t alert the House Elves or anyone. Fleur has offered to share her bed, since the carriage only had enough rooms for each student and the two teachers, but somehow I didn’t think that you’d like that.” Theo added, and Belladonna shook her head.

“As much as I like Fleur as a friend, I would not be comfortable sharing a bed.”

“Durmstrang had some spare berths, but you would be in a very male dominated environment, since High Master Karkaroff decided to only bring boys for the Tournament.” Luna chimed in, sending Belladonna a sly look. “But I didn’t think that it would bother you. Theo vetoed. So did Cedric.”

“It would be improper without a female chaperone.” Theo sniffed haughtily, and Luna giggled at his expression, Belladonna hiding a smile at their antics.

“I think the second option would be best.” She decided. “I could ask a Black Elf to move my things; they will not answer to the Headmaster, and the Hogwarts Elves will not be able to see them if I order them to stay hidden. Some bedding from the storage basement in Black Manor, perhaps. Maybe some wards.”

“Would Lady Malfoy assist?” Luna asked, bouncing onto Belladonna’s bed, and Belladonna shook her head.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble Aunt Narcissa any more than I already have. She’s already taken time out of her schedule to make sure that I didn’t die of any unforeseen complications, and I wouldn’t want to make a bother of myself.”

“I doubt she would see it that way.” Theo muttered, coming to lean on the other side of the bed. “But we’d have to make it fast, so that no one notices that you’re missing. As far as they know, you’re staying in the Hospital Wing for an undetermined amount of time.”

“Stupid peasants.” Belladonna commented, before she sat up quickly, ears picking up the sound of footsteps coming from the Healers Office. “Theo, perhaps ask a Nott Elf to assist you; the nurse peasant is coming.”

“Luna, come on.” Theo demanded, pulling the blonde off the bed, both of them hurrying towards the door.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can!” Luna hissed to her, and Belladonna nodded, before lying back and pretending to be asleep as the nurse peasant approached, unquestionably about to proceed with all manner of tests, now that her Aunt Narcissa had left. Gritting her teeth, Belladonna forced herself to remain calm.

.

She hated hospitals.

.

.

.

.

“You wanted to see me, Headmaster?” Belladonna stepped inside the office cautiously, eyes peeled for traps. She should not have been out of bed until tomorrow, but the stupid nurse peasant ( _notmynurse)_ had deemed her fit to leave, and had all but thrown her out of the Hospital Wing, mentioning that the Headmaster had asked to see her as soon as she was better. Uneasy, Belladonna had complied, knowing that the Headmaster was a busy man, but he probably wanted the true story as to how she ended up in the graveyard.

“Ah, Ms Potter, do come in! Lemon drop?” He held out a bowl of yellow sweets, and she resisted the urge to grimace. She hated anything overly sugary; a result of watching the pigs eat over summer.

“No, thank you.” She declined, the Headmaster popping one in his mouth and gesturing for her to take a seat. She did so slowly; the last time she had been unwary in sitting down, some idiot had placed a whoopee cushion under her chair. They hadn’t been laughing by the time she had finished hexing them for the embarrassment. The Headmaster sat silently, scrutinizing her.

“I trust you are well, Ms Potter? It did take the Aurors a long time to find you, even with the assistance of young Ms Tonks calling upon the familial bond that you share.”

“I am recuperating, thank you, Headmaster. Lady Malfoy was so kind as to lend her assistance into determining the nature of my injuries, and is confident that I will make a full recovery.”

“That is good news to hear, child.” Belladonna inwardly bristled at the tone, and the manner of address, but she bit her tongue, least she offend the Headmaster. Intimidating her schoolmates was one thing, taking on the Headmaster was another. She idly wondered if they would be dealing with the niceties all evening; she would rather avoid the small talk, considering she lacked the patience most of the time, and she didn’t want to test how long her temper would stay at bay.

“Fate is a mysterious and fickle creature, Ms Potter.” The Headmaster finally broke the silence. “One could argue that it was Fate that placed your name in the Goblet, others would disagree and say that it was the failings of a greedy man. The first party would reply that without the Goblet’s assistance, you would not have made friends within the two other schools. The second would dispute that you had already made contact with Ms Delacour, and Mr Krum would have made his way to you eventually, being one of the few people who did not care about his fame.” The Headmaster stared off into the middle distance, and Belladonna took great care not to look in his eyes, something warning her, and causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise.

“Would Fate really pay attention to someone as insignificant as me, Headmaster?” Belladonna asked, playing up the ‘naïve schoolgirl’. “There are others more important than I in the grand scheme of things.”

“Fate has a hand in all our lives, Ms Potter.” He replied. “Be it small or large. Sometimes, I believe that Fate leaves behind guidelines to lead us to our fortune, or perhaps an order to dictate your fate, to drag you to your destiny, whether you like it or not. I have seen many fates and destinies, have seen students receive a ‘call’ to a particular vocation, seen some rise to the challenge, and seen others fall to the wayside, a few flounder, and several drown. Many are dictated by Fate; deemed her favourites, her champions, or even her playthings. Of this selection, I fear that you are the one Fate has chosen to meddle with, this time around.”

“And what dictates my fate, Headmaster?” Belladonna asked, curious. Finding out that the Headmaster got philosophical was an interesting titbit, and perhaps asking for help from someone much older and wiser than her, superior in the ways of the world, wasn’t such a bad idea… _no._ Why did she think that? _Deceit, compulsion spells,_ her mind provided, a small murmur from Black confirming, before it went back to sleep.

“A prophecy.”

“What?” Belladonna stated flatly, staring at the Headmaster. Surely, he did not just say what she thought he did.

“A prophecy that foretold the conqueror of the Dark Lord. Surely, as a disciple of Divination you would believe that…”

“Prophecies are self-fulfilling more often than not, Headmaster.” Belladonna interrupted. “Anyone who studies Divination seriously could tell you that. In order for a prophecy to be valid, two opposing parties must have mutually agreed that it applied to them. One was obviously you, and I suppose that the now deceased Dark Lord Voldemort was the other.”

“My dear girl…”

“ _I’m not your dear anything._ ” Belladonna snarled, the Headmaster jerking back as she stabbed a knife into the desk, the pretty red fire swirling around the blade and handle. She took a deep breath, controlling her temper, least she end up back in the Hospital Wing so soon after she left it, and back into the clutches of the nurse peasant.

“What did the prophecy say?” She asked, mildly calmer, pulling her knife out of the desk and hiding it in her robes. _Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent underneath._

“ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."_ The Headmaster recited, his tone weary and sounding as if the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders. _Caution,_ her intuition warned, _an act, a lie, deceit._ Belladonna took a moment to process the words of the prophecy; take them apart, dissect their meaning, and then put it back together into something that made sense. Once she did, her blood boiled as the meaning, or lack of, became perfectly clear.

That was it? The damn prophecy that caused her parents to be murdered, had ruined thousands of lines, consisted of such vague ramblings that it could have related to anything? She would have never have taken it as seriously as the Headmaster did; Luna could See so much clearer, and even Theo’s runes were more precise than this.

“The one spoken in the prophecy was you, Ms Potter. Voldemort chose to target you, as your birthday falls as the seventh month, July, dies. Your parents had defied him thrice, and he marked you as his equal…” His gaze flickered to the scar that marred her face, and she gritted her teeth. This was bordering on ridiculous, and she could not stand the idea of such a farce taking place.

“It refers to a boy.” She stated coldly. “Which I am not. Clearly, your eyesight has long since abandoned you, along with your wits and common sense.”

There. She had seen that glint before; he was irritated.

“You are the child of prophecy, boy or not, Ms Potter. Fate has decided that you will be the one to face him, and kill him.” And now, the Headmaster had shown his true colours.

“He’s already dead.” Belladonna replied testily. “One does not simply survive the wrath of three Ancient Houses. Even if he _did_ survive, how would he have done so, Headmaster?”

“I’m afraid that I cannot answer that question, Ms Potter.”

“Cannot or will not, Headmaster?” Belladonna retorted. The slight hesitation was all the answer she needed. He was hiding something. Something _big._

“If trying to convince me to be your little martyr was all you summoned me for, Headmaster, then no thank you.” Belladonna stood, adjusting her school skirt so that it sat properly. “I will decline. Go find someone else to fight your fight.”

“This is a fight your parents fought; to provide a better world for you.” The Headmaster argued. Belladonna gave him a sarcastic smile.

“Indeed!” She replied, cheerfully. “And how is that working for them?” The smile fell.

“My parents _died_ to create your perfect world, Headmaster. You will have to forgive me if I do not want to do the same.”

“Then you leave me no choice, Ms Potter.” The Headmaster stood, and aimed his wand at her unerringly; no sign of hesitation or even remorse.

“What?” She breathed, backing towards the door, her chair crashing to the floor.

“The prophecy is clear. You _will_ be the one to defeat Voldemort, Ms Potter, even if you die trying.”

How could she have been so stupid ( _come into my parlour,_ said the spider to the fly) as to fall into this trap? She was defenceless; if she attempted to use her magic to defend herself, she risked damaging her core beyond repair. She felt her back hit the door, realizing that she’d been backing away from the wand the entire time, trying the handle and finding it locked.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked, stalling for time that she knew she didn’t have, ignoring the shouting coming from the portraits that lined the wall.

“Simple.” The Headmaster dared _twinkle_ at her, but his eyes were cold and furious, and Belladonna felt sick. “Because you, my dear, are essential to my plans.”

“I won’t!” She shouted, the pretty red flaring to life and trying to disintegrate the lock, but it was taking far too long at her current power levels, and the very use of it caused her vision to swim.

“You have no choice.” The Headmaster dropped the kindly act, and Belladonna saw him for what he truly was. He was the spider, the chess master, the tyrant and the dictator. He was the puppet-master, and she had become entangled in his strings- had _been_ entangled in his strings, and she hadn’t even noticed. She had been outplayed, outsmarted, and that in itself _burned_ in her very being, even as the Headmaster uttered the word that ended the match.

.

 _“Obliviate_.”

.

.

.

.

Grass. All she could see was grass, and an overcast sky. How…dull, and utterly typical. She vaguely remembered Aunt Narcissa talking about mindscapes during a lesson, but it had only been in passing, though. But…how had she ended up here? Last she remembered, she had been in the Headmasters office, being debriefed about the events of the graveyard, and then…nothing. Had she collapsed, or fallen asleep? Did the cat professor take her back to the dorms? Professor McGonagall had been in the meeting with her…right? Or had it been the starry professor?

Blonde drifted across her vision, and she stared at the curly locks, confused, until she remembered that yes, that was her hair. She had gotten so used to seeing dark locks instead of blonde, green eyes instead of… _haterageanger_. A flicker of movement caught her eyes, and she looked up to see someone else standing opposite her, the grass swaying in a serene breeze that tossed her hair and caressed her skin.

It was her, but at the same time…it wasn’t.

“The memories that don’t belong, are they yours?” She asked. The boy grinned at her, eyes hidden under his fringe, crown tilted at a lopsided angle, a knife held casually at his side. If not for the fact that he was a boy, she would have thought that she was looking into a mirror.

“They are.” He drawled. Belladonna raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want them. Can you take them back?”

“Why?”

“I can’t focus with them. They make my migraines ten times worse than normal, and they distract me during class.”

“How dull.” The boy sauntered towards her, knife spinning between his fingers, exactly how….exactly how she did it. _What was this?_ “That you should be unintelligent enough to have to pay attention in class.”

“Silence, peasant.” Belladonna hissed. “I have to pay attention so that I know what the peasants want me to write. Hiding my true abilities is essential in this hellhole.”

“Why?” The boy stopped, about two meters away, and shoved his hands in his pockets, slouching. “You are superior to them, in more ways than one. You should show them their place on the food chain. The worthless peasants aren’t worth the air you breathe.”

“Some are.” She volleyed back, thinking of her Theo and her Luna, Fleur and Gabrielle, even Viktor and Cedric.

“Some are.” The boy agreed, nodding. “But most of them aren’t.”

“Why are you here?” Belladonna asked, glaring. “This is my head. My mind.”

“I’m trapped here.” The boy shrugged. “Five years ago, you became the dominant personality. There is a chance that we could merge without any side effects, except perhaps dysphoria, but that will come later.”

“What do you mean, dominant personality?” Belladonna frowned. “This is my body. It always has been.”

“Has it?” The boy challenged. Belladonna found that she didn’t have an answer to that.

“If it was yours,’ she began cautiously, ‘then why is it now mine?”

“And now, you start asking the correct questions, Belladonna.” The boy smirked. “You should be more wary around the old man; he’s too clever for his own good. You were lucky that this time he underestimated how much you actually remembered.”

“This time?”

“You thought that this was the first time he’d erased your memories?” The boy snorted, his crown falling forwards, a hand coming up to catch it. For a moment, it felt as though something were missing from her own head, as though she should have been wearing a crown as well. She clenched her fists, fingernails making little bloody crescents on her palms. This was getting ridiculous.

“What else has he made me forget?” The boy clenched his fist, mirroring her, and his countenance grew dark, the sky above turning a dark grey, to black, flashing with the pretty red fire.

“Our most _precious people_.” The boy hissed. “The _Sky_. The Sun, the Rain, the Mist. The traitors, the dangerous ones, the corrupted. Our purpose. Our _revenge._ ”

And _that_ resonated within her, on a whole new level. If she didn’t have a purpose, then what use was ambition? What use was bravery, intelligence, hard work? And if she did not have revenge, what fuelled her purpose?

“Why? Why would he…?” Belladonna swayed on the spot, shaken to her core. A puppet, that’s what the headmaster wanted. A little doll to guide the masses, or a scapegoat to satisfy the crowds if all else failed. Everything that had happened in her time at Hogwarts was suddenly seen a new light. The Defence Professor in her first year, the Basilisk in her Second, the Dementors in her Third, and now the Tournament that had almost claimed her life and magic. If she stayed, what horrors would await her in her Fifth year? What would happen once she came of age? Would the Headmaster seek to control her, to bind her magic to his every will and whim?

A thought floated through her mind. If he could erase memories, could he also create them, and place them in her mind? What was real, and what wasn’t? If she became the dominant personality five years ago, why could she remember being four and receiving a slap to the face for the first time? How could she remember being six and getting locked outside in the cold, in the snow, and almost dying? The times she ran away from the pigs and the giraffe to blend in with the bright colours against the dark buildings?

“Will you help me?” She asked, the request coming easily to her lips, easier than normal. “Will you help me control and hide the memories, both mine and yours?”

“Of course.” The boy laughed ( _ushishishi)_. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,’ the boy leaned closer, and lifted his fringe, and Belladonna clamped down on the surge of _angerhaterage_ that turned the sky black at the sight of _his_ eyes, ‘I’m you, after all. _Ja, ne_!”

“Wait!” Belladonna called, just as the edges of the boy started to fade. “What do I call you?”

The boy looked over his shoulder, and gave her a smile that was so similar to her own, and so sad, that her breath caught.

.

.

“My name…is Belphegor.”

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**Ring Battles- Mist**

.

“I trust I don’t have to tell you not to kill the little Mist?” Xanxus bantered, Mammon sniffing.

“It wouldn’t take much.” Mammon murmured. “The mistling looks like she’ll keel over any second. Besides, Mist Battles are battles of the mind. If she does manage to launch a physical attack, I have a way of dealing with those.”

“Be careful.” Xanxus replied, watching the small miser toddle off towards the field where the battle was being held. He was only mildly worried about the Mist; Mammon was an Arcobaleno, one of the World’s Strongest, so they could handle themselves. Still, something felt off about the little Mist, who was standing next to the fluffball and fiddling with the ring around her neck. She was too skittish, and her eyes were darting everywhere. Oddly enough, she held a trident in her left hand, yet she lacked the muscle and the build to wield one with any sort of form or power (Triton in Rain, Squalo’s third, was a demon with the thing, and his Name certainly reflected that). It could be used as a conductor, or a focus, but if that was the case, why a trident? Why not something smaller and easier to carry around? Wires, knives, even a miniature pistol (she looked like a knife girl. Serrated, definitely), something easy to conceal, wield and carry. Not that…that…monstrosity. Was it even properly balanced for her to fight with it?

The little Mist (he’d heard the Cloud brat call her _Usagi-chan_ once. It fit) stepped onto the field, the Rain brat cheering her on from his seat, covered in bandages from the night before, the Sun bellowing about ‘ _EXTREME FIGHT, CHROME-CHAN!’_ and the fluffball nervously twisting his hands together and asking the Mist to be careful, and not to worry if they didn’t get the ring. Huh, the fluffball cared about his potential Guardians. _A good start._ Xanxus could work with that later; he _assumed_ that he would be teaching the brat how to survive Vongola, since the sun baby trash was _allied_ , and didn’t know the inner workings. Who knew, maybe he’d be able to change Vongola through the fluffball into something less elitist. Or maybe the fluffball would do that himself.

.

“Begin.”

.

Mammon didn’t pull any punches, starting off with weaving illusions so thick Xanxus could almost _taste_ them. Strange and terrifying beasts surged towards the mistling, who gritted her teeth, and Conjured vines that lashed around her form like tentacles. Some sliced through the beasts, others batted them away, and Xanxus was impressed.

“Good control.” Yosei commented, and Lussuria hummed.

“Especially for someone so young. Mists are generally older teens and young adults; she must have Awakened early, and learn the hard way about Mist Flames.”

“Or someone taught her.” Slaugh voiced the thought that Xanxus had held behind his teeth. The Mist brats movements were too controlled, too practised, to have been self-taught. The Cloud Officer was staring hard at the Cloud brat, shoulders tense and muscles wound tight. The Cloud brat was equally wired, Xanxus could see, so either Slaugh was feeding off the brat’s energy, or something bad was going to happen. It might even be both, with the way things were going in the Ring Battles. To have both Clouds on edge (the Flame type well-known for having good intuition to rival the Vongola Hyper Intuition)…it didn’t bode well.

He turned his attention back to the fight in time to see Mammon dodge an awkward stab from the trident, the Arcobaleno lashing out with a staff pulled out of nowhere and connecting with the girl’s wrist, before they moved their hands in an odd gesture, and mist stared to flood the area, making it harder for them to see the fight.

“Voi, boss, is Mammon…?”

“Yes.” Xanxus confirmed. The mist trick was one he was familiar with, and Mammon only used it when they were about to get serious. The mist, saturated with Mist Flames and Mammon’s secondary Rain, dampened and dulled the senses of those within, to the point where the attacker would either fall asleep, or attack out of desperation. And desperate people made mistakes. It also served another purpose; it prevented mental scarring for those watching. Xanxus had seen what Mammon was capable of once before, and it had given him nightmares for months. No doubt Mammon was trying to keep the brats from avoiding the same fate.

.

A chill ran up his spine as the mist thickened, and reached the little Mist’s feet, the girl paling, before a smirk twisted her features, and Xanxus could not shake the pervading feeling of _wrongness_. That smirk did not belong on the face of the girl; it was something else, something _other_. The mist swirled around the girl, and there was the sound of demonic laughter that definitely was _not_ female, and everything feel into place. _That_ was the reason she had been chosen, the reason why a little _rabbit_ was being pitched against a giant snake.

“Rokudo Mukuro.” Squalo growled, as the mist billowed and swallowed the Mist Officer and the possessed girl, then grew too thick for them to see anything, flashes of light and vines occasionally escaping.

“Is he not in Vendicare?” Slaugh queried.

“The kid was an experiment from the Estraneo Family.” Yosei explained. “Apparently, he could possess anyone he had touched before. He was caught a few months back, somewhere around this area. That’s probably the reason why the little Mist was chosen; a direct link to Rokudo.”

“But that’s stupid.” Slaugh argued. “Possession, especially possession for long amounts of time, such as this, requires extreme mental stability and capability, for both the possessor and possessed. If you aren’t careful, you can lose bits of yourself in another person’s mind, or you can kill the possessed person, either by overloading their mental stimulation, erasing so much of their own personality and replacing it with your own, or engaging in activities that require an immense amount of cranial activity. Fighting, as well as being physically challenging, also relies on the brain for a lot of the processing; threat risks, movement, strategy and so forth.”

“How do you know this?” Lussuria asked, eyes narrowed. “There is next to nothing on possession, ghostly or otherwise, let alone the side effects on a human mind in _real life_.”

“I…” Slaugh faltered, and Xanxus stepped in.

“Enough, Lussuria. You can interrogate Slaugh after the Ring Battles. Mammon has the upper hand.”

And indeed, there seemed to be less vines, and the mist that had blanketed the field was slowly dissolving, the occasional flash of light throwing shadows against the wall of white, before finally dissipating to reveal Mammon standing over their opponent, breathing hard, but holding the Mist ring in one chubby hand.

“The Mist Battle goes to the VARIA.” The Cervello trash announced.

“Lussuria!” Mammon shouted. Actually shouted, childish voice raised in panic as they held their hands outstretched towards the little Mist, indigo Flames blanketing the girl, but Xanxus could see what was wrong immediately. The girl’s stomach was concave, and he had seen enough corpses to know what that meant.

 _No organs._ The little Mist had _no fucking organs._

“Voi, Mist constructs. That’s how she was alive.”

“And likely it was Mukuro who was keeping her alive, since he’s in Vendicare.” Yosei surmised. “Fuck, what a mess this is turning out to be.”

“The old man knew.” Xanxus uttered softly, voice taunt. “There is no way in hell that he didn’t know about the Mist missing organs, the Lightning being _five_ , the Rain being near suicidal, Gokudera being inches away from a psychotic break and so desperate for attention.”

“Voi, not to mention that the Sun was leaking flames too fast for him to replace if he fought.” Squalo ran a hand through his hair. “ _Merde_. What a shitty mess.”

“Something stinks, boss.” Yosei muttered. “It’s not right. None of it.”

“Sawada.” Slaugh growled, an answering one coming from the Cloud brat as he too spotted the External Advisor. Xanxus narrowed his eyes; for two Clouds to dislike the External Advisor on sight…actually, most of the Clouds disliked him. It didn’t help that Sawada trash flared his flames so often, even among bonded Guardians. Squalo had often complained about it, during the first few weeks after they had taken over VARIA, and they had both been forced into _incessant_ meetings with the old man and his council of geezers. Something about how Sawada had kept pressing and pressing, until Squalo had wanted to rip his throat out.

“Don’t worry, Chrome will be fine! She just needs some rest!” Sawada trash tried to push his way past Lussuria, but his Sun was having none of it. Neither was the Sun brat, whom had run over to try and help the VARIA Medic (it was cute, the way the Sun brat had gravitated to Lussuria. Lussuria certainly didn’t mind). The Sun brat stood in front of Sawada, and said something too low for Xanxus to catch, but Sawada just pushed him aside, the Sun brat clutching his ribs when he landed oddly. Lussuria stood up then, towering over the External Advisor, a look of fury etched upon their face.

“Voi, boss, I’m worried about Lussuria.” Squalo watched his fellow Guardian argue with Sawada. “They’ve been rather…short tempered lately.”

“Kids are involved.” Xanxus reminded his Rain. “They’ve always had a soft spot for kids.” Lussuria had once gone out into the slums near VARIA HQ, and had spent most of the day healing the street rats and the poorer kids whose families couldn’t afford medicine, dragging his Division along for the ride. Xanxus remembered that day clearly. Yaxkin had been Named then as well, if he recalled correctly.

“Voi, I know that, but…more so than usual.” Squalo frowned in the direction of the Sun Officer. Xanxus knew what Squalo was trying not to say. Belphegor’s disappearance had perhaps been the hardest upon Lussuria, whom had blamed themselves (all his Guardians blamed themselves), and although the Sun had managed to keep their emotions in check for almost six years, Xanxus knew that sooner or later, one of them had to crack. Lussuria had told him, in confidence, about how his Rain Officer had shut down for a couple of days after he’d been frozen ( _time to process,_ Lussuria had called it. _Time to grieve,_ wasn’t said), and had done the same for a week after Belphegor had disappeared. Mammon had admitted, while the others were asleep on the way over to Japan, that they had lost control three months before he’d been unfrozen, the miser curled up next to him and wrapping Mist Flames around them like a blanket, Xanxus sneakily adding a few Sky Flames to the mix.

Judging by the short, sharp gestures and the snappy tone Lussuria was using to argue with the External Advisor, the Thai Sun wasn’t far off their own little explosion.

.

And something told Xanxus that it would be quite destructive.

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**Ring Battles- Cloud**

“Be careful, Slaugh.” Xanxus warned his Cloud, the small Scot staring intently at her rival Cloud. “He’s strong, and fast.”

“But he does not utilize his full potential. My task is to drag it out of him, kicking and screaming if I must.” Slaugh replied, baring her teeth. Xanxus frowned, confused.

“That’s not what I…”

“Of course,’ Slaugh continued, ‘I suppose I can deal with the ring as well, if it’s that important to you. I shall try not to beat your cousin too badly.”

“Cousin?” Yosei got out, staring at Slaugh as though the cloudling had gone mad.

“They look too similar to not be related, although it might be through your mother’s side more than your father’s.” Slaugh continued blithely. “Maybe second cousin, or third cousin.”

Xanxus stared at his Cloud Officer, mouth wide open, gaping shamelessly. No one, _no one_ , had ever mentioned his birth family (no one had the guts to, at least not to his face), no one had even talked about his drug addict mother (who, now that he looked back on it, didn’t really have any sort of resemblance to him), and since the whole ‘not eligible for the Vongola’ thing…

There was a choking sound from the 10 gen brats when Slaugh took off her VARIA jacket (standard issue, they hadn’t personalized it yet, bar the small purple cloud on the right arm), to reveal…not the standard issue gear Squalo had given her. Xanxus himself resisted the urge to choke on his own spit at the sight of some kind of _very_ form fitting gear, leaving no doubt that despite that fact they didn’t advertise it, Slaugh was definitely female. On closer inspection, the black suit seemed to have a repeating motif of feathers (crow, maybe), with some sort of family crest on the left breast pocket ( _Fay,_ she had said, _of House Prince_. It had been archaic, but perhaps her family was older than even Vongola). Slaugh, heedless of the stares they were getting, stretched, arching their back and twisting around to loosen their spine, bending their limbs at angles he was _sure_ weren’t possible for humans.

“The battle….” He managed to get out, and Slaugh turned to look at him, rolling their eyes as they made their way towards the giant metal cage where the Cloud Battle would be.

“If it’s that important to you, then I will win. Try to watch carefully, because it might be fast.”

.

It was.

.

Well, time wise, it was the longest yet, because both the Cloud brat and Slaugh were evenly matched. Speed wise…all he could see was a white blur (Cloud brat), and a black blur (Slaugh), with the occasional flare of purple. He had thought that perhaps his eyes were playing up, but when he had asked Lussuria, the Sun had simply confirmed that yes, the Clouds were too fast for normal eyes to keep up with. There were moments where the battle had slowed down, like when Slaugh had been slammed into the cage wall and stayed there for a few seconds to regain their breath, or when the Cloud brat had disengaged from the fight to set his nose and shoulder back into place (which earned him points with the VARIA. Kid had fantastic pain tolerance and clearly wasn’t squeamish).

It had hit around the two hour mark that they both began to slow down, slow enough that they could now see how they were fighting. Slaugh was quicker, but the Cloud brat was stronger, and Xanxus could almost _feel_ the bruises forming with every hit Slaugh took. Some of them even he would be hard pressed to take and still continue fighting.

“Voi, the cloudling is good.” Squalo whistled, impressed. Yosei nodded.

“If they’d shown this much potential while we were training them…”

“Levi or some other ambitious Cloud would have taken them out.” Lussuria interjected. “They were smart to hide what they were capable of. However, ‘Lussuria frowned, eyes narrowed, ‘I’m not entirely sure what fighting style Slaugh is using. It looks to be Shaolin Crane Form, but it’s….warped.”

“Mou, I have heard of House Prince.” Mammon admitted quietly. “Their Territory, combined with that of a smaller, lesser clan, is Scotland, with smaller parts of England and Ireland. It is said that they…discourage any sort of mafia-ish activity on their shores. They are rumoured to have a special sort of fighting style that is only usable to family members. Slaugh’s introduction…”

“It may be _that_ House Prince.” Xanxus finished, watching as Slaugh kicked the other Cloud in the head, the brat dropping to his knees and rolling to the side to avoid an axe kick that would have certainly ended the fight. He lunged upward with a snarl, a vicious punch headed straight for Slaugh’s head…if Slaugh hadn’t dropped into full horizontal splits, and then proceed to sweep the brat’s legs out from underneath him in a very well-practised move.

“Voi.” Squalo breathed, impressed. Xanxus could only nod in agreement; not even Lindworm in Rain Division could execute splits in a combat situation as easily as Slaugh just did, and they held the top scores for agility and flexibility. That type of fighting took years to build up to, which led to the question; who trained Slaugh? And why did they think it was necessary for a fourteen year old to learn how to fight like…like they would die if they didn’t? All the questions built up in his head, and Xanxus was getting sick of not having answers.

.

Finally, _finally_ , Slaugh pinned the Cloud brat, both of them covered in mud and blood, clothes ripped and panting heavily, Slaugh straddling the Cloud brat and pinning his legs in place with their own, wrists held securely, and the Cloud Officer tore the ring from the necklace with their teeth, the Cloud brat offering only a token struggle when Slaugh’s teeth came closer to his neck, before falling back, limp, staring at Slaugh with an odd expression. Across from Xanxus, there was a whimper of “ _Hibari-sempai”_ , before the pink-haired freaks concluded the battle.

“The Cloud Battle goes to the VARIA.”

“So cute!” Lussuria squealed under their breath as Slaugh rolled off the Cloud brat, and lay in the dirt, both breathing heavily and trying to slow down their heartrates, and Xanxus cuffed the hyperactive Sun around the head.

“I said not until Slaugh is sixteen, Lussuria.” He reminded, and Lussuria deflated.

“But Boss….”

“ _No._ ”

.

Whatever Lussuria was going to day next was interrupted by wheezing laughter, the Cloud brat jerking slightly on the ground with the force of it.

“Carnivore.” He gasped out, no doubt the three broken ribs that Slaugh had given him were making things difficult for him to talk.

“HIE! HIBARI-SEMPAI?”

“Smaller carnivore.” Slaugh replied, equally breathless, and Xanxus exchanged quick, confused looks with his Guardians. Maybe it was a Cloud thing. Slaugh coughed up blood, wiping it away as they struggled to sit, the Cloud brat following suit, still staring at Slaugh like a…Xanxus growled. _Absolutely not._

“Marry me.” The Cloud brat asked, apparently in earnest. Lussuria choked. Squalo stiffened. Yosei burst into cackles, and Mammon sighed. Slaugh, however, froze. _Like a deer in headlights,_ Xanxus thought, amused. The other brats paled, the fluffball flailing about in a panic, the Sun Arcobaleno staring in what appeared to be shock, mixed with exasperation.

“I…um….” Oh dear Lord, his Cloud was _blushing_. And _stammering_. A fledgling crush? Some sort of Cloud magnetism? The Cloud brat stood, offering a hand, which Slaugh used to pull themselves up, standing almost chest to chest. The blush intensified. Xanxus glowered. _Clouds_.

“I’m…not of age until I’m seventeen….” Slaugh managed to get out, and the Cloud brat frowned.

“You are…not an adult?”

“No.” Slaugh confirmed.

“Hn.” The Cloud looked thoughtful, before leaning forward, and uttering something too low for Xanxus to catch. Slaugh looked ready to faint, a look of mortification spreading across her face as the Cloud brat continued to talk, before the Cloud brat stepped back, and waited, expectant. Slaugh took a deep breath, and gave the Cloud brat a smile that seemed to floor him, if his subtle gaping was anything to go by, and leaned in to whisper something that made the Cloud brat smirk. The Cloud brat met Xanxus’ eyes, and Xanxus upped his Killing Intent, letting a few tendrils of Flames twist around his fingers. The brat had the nerve to bare his teeth at him, before turning and sauntering his way out of the ring, Slaugh standing still for a moment, before making her own way out.

It wasn’t until Slaugh made their way back to the VARIA group, lips and teeth bloody (had they _bitten_ the Cloud brat?), that he noticed the ink on the inside of the Cloud Officer’s wrist. Slaugh, catching his questioning gaze, shrugged.

“He wanted some control exercises to improve his speed.” Lussuria, however, had also seen the ink, and grabbed Slaugh’s wrist, pulling the sleeve up to expose the string of numbers and kanji, before smirking at the now blushing Cloud. Xanxus frowned. He hadn’t seen the Cloud brat write anything, did he even have a pen? He glowered at the…yep, the cell phone number and address written in black against Slaugh’s pale skin.

“Slaugh…” Xanxus fought to keep the snarl off his face as Lussuria grinned slyly at the Cloud Officer.

“We also exchanged numbers, in order to compare training notes.” Interesting. Slaugh’s voice had risen in pitch, and had a defensive tone to it.

“And…?” Great, now Yosei was in on it. Perfect, he had two matchmaking fiends dead set on hooking Slaugh up with the Cloud brat.

“An offer to assist in improving my Japanese fluency.” Slaugh was now cornered, Mammon snickering next to Xanxus.

“As well as…” Lussuria pressed, and finally, they had pushed too far.

“None of your damn business!” Slaugh snarled, yanking their wrist out of the Sun Officer’s grip and stalking off, Squalo losing his battle with the amused laughter he had been keeping inside.

“VOI! The cloudling has an admirer!”

“Fuck off, Superbi!” Slaugh shouted, Lussuria and Yosei dissolving into cackling like demented witches. Xanxus pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to stave off a headache.

“Why me?” He groaned, looking to the sky for answers, Mammon patting his hand absently. He received none. _Typical._

.

“The Sky Battle will begin at 1800 tomorrow.”

.

Ah, fuck. He’d forgotten that he’d have to fight as well.

.

Curse the shitty old man.

.


	13. And Spur My Dull Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> "…and spur my dull revenge…" Hamlet, William Shakespeare
> 
> .
> 
> 'Madness', Ruelle
> 
> .

.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

The infernal clock continued to drive her insane, and perhaps it was her punishment for trying to escape the Hospital Wing early. Theo and Luna had been barred from seeing her…actually, all visitors were prevented from seeing her, and so it made for a very dull stay. Merlin, she would even wish the company of those irksome Weasley Twins at the moment, if only to stave off her boredom. The Headmaster had debriefed her as soon as she had gotten into the Hospital Wing; she had used the Cup to escape after duelling the Dark Lord, and that stupid Minister peasant hadn’t believed her. _Her,_ the Heiress to _three_ Ancient Houses, had been accused of being ‘ _hysterical’_ and ‘ _not in her right mind’._ Oh, but the Minister peasant would die in the most humiliating and degrading way possible. Voldemort would be put down like the rabid dog that he is, with a knife to the throat and burning with the pretty red fire.

The nurse peasant bustled around to her bedside, tutting at the flowers that were sliced in half. Had Belladonna done that? She couldn’t remember; perhaps Aunt Narcissa had done so when she had visited…an hour ago? That didn’t sound quite right in her head, and Belladonna frowned.

“Nurse.”

“Yes, Ms Potter?” The nurse replied, a frown settling over her face at Belladonna’s address of her.

“When did Lady Malfoy visit?”

“Lady Malfoy? She sent her apologies, as something had happened at the Ministry to do with the charity event she was hosting this weekend. She didn’t say when she’d pop by.” The nurse informed her, and Belladonna nodded her thanks, hiding the frown that wanted to appear. She had been sure that Aunt Narcissa had visited, and sliced the flowers in half, and blown the windows out in a rare show of temper, but the windows were all intact. Had she been hallucinating? Had someone drugged her?

“Am I allowed visitors?” She asked, fingers twisting into the bedsheets; a nervous tick she had never managed to get rid of. Something wasn’t right (nothing was right), and it itched at her skin and made her teeth ache. She wished she could consult the Oracle, but being magically exhausted as she was, she decided not to risk it. Besides, the nurse peasant would throw a fit if she got blood on the pristine floor. It was unsanitary, and Belladonna had no desire to have a lecture about ‘hospital areas’ and ‘unhygienic practises’ when she couldn’t even escape the damn bed.

“The Headmaster has forbidden anyone from visiting you, in light of your recent injuries.” The nurse peasant shot down. “He said that any magic being cast around your core at this time could lead to an imbalance and effect your magical growth. That includes latent magic around wands and accidental magic.”

Belladonna hid a frown. That explanation made no sense. If that was the case, she’d have been isolated in a magic-free environment from the beginning; Hogwarts was practically _saturated_ with ambient magic, from the thousands of millions of students that had passed through the halls since the Founding Era, and the nurse peasant had been using diagnostic spells on her all morning. It was almost as if someone had fed her the explanation, and it was triggered by her question. Was such a thing possible? She’d have to ask Aunt Narcissa, or even Lord Malfoy, who had a Mastery in Mind Magicks ( _It would please me immensely if you called me Uncle Lucius,_ he had admitted once, _but I am under close scrutiny. Narcissa can get away with it, but I cannot, as I am not blood-related)_. The nurse peasant did seem unusually absent-minded today; she had run the same test six times before noticing the duplicates, and she must have tutted at the flowers several times by now. Perhaps the nurse peasant was having a bad day, or was starting to go senile; apparently it happened once you got older, but Belladonna wasn’t rude enough to enquire after the nurse peasant’s age. She had better manners than that.

.

It was nearing curfew when the nurse peasant finally left, prattling on about a staff meeting, the door staying open for just a fraction longer than necessary, Theo slipping in as the nurse peasants back was turned, holding a small bag that Belladonna recognised as holding her knives and ghosting over to her side, feet eerily silent on the tiled floor.

“How are you feeling?” He enquired quietly after the door had shut.

“Sore.” She answered honestly, taking the bag that he handed to her and tucking it under her pillow, where the nurse peasant wouldn’t check. “My wrists especially. And my arm; the nurse peasant said that it will scar, as it was a cursed knife that was used. I don’t understand the fuss though. It was just a flesh wound. You’d think that it had to be amputated or something.”

She had the strangest sense of déjà vu as she said those words, and Theo had a strange look on his face.

“That’s…good to hear, Belladonna. Our base is all set up; your stuff was moved too quickly for anyone to notice, and Luna has been warding the doorway and windows with tourmaline since. I added a few runes; nothing advanced, but they should hold.”

Belladonna felt her brow crease, and she gave Theo a confused look.

“That’s…good? Why have my belongings been moved, though?”

“You asked me to.” Theo replied, puzzled. “We spoke earlier today, remember? About how you couldn’t stay in the tower because there were no female allies to guard you.”

“Oh.” She answered, a migraine building in the back of her head, and she clenched her fists. “I don’t remember. The nurse peasant told me that I had had no visitors, since the Headmaster had forbidden it.” Theo still looked a bit perplexed, but he shook his head, leaning against the bed frame and tapping his fingers on the railing.

“How did your meeting go?”

“With whom, Theo?” Belladonna eyed him, confused. Did she have a meeting scheduled with someone, or had she forgotten?  
“The Headmaster wanted to see you, to discuss the events of the Dark Lord’s demise and to debrief you on the events in the graveyard. Luna tried to get Professor McGonagall to go with you, but the infernal Weasley Twins set off some sort of firework that dissolved into slime when vanished, and it’s coated the second floor hallway.”

“Theo…” Belladonna began, something settling in her chest that twisted and wormed its way down to her stomach. “The Headmaster debriefed me here, as soon as I got in. The Dark Lord has returned to life, but the Minister didn’t believe me.”

“Bel.” The use of the private nickname ( _rightrightMINE)_ and the look on Theo’s face silenced whatever she was about to say, and the feeling in her stomach intensified, because she knew two things were absolute. One, Theo never used that nickname unless something was wrong.

Two: In all the years that she’d known Theo, never once had he lied to her.

“Bel, you told me yourself that the Dark Lord was dead, _before_ you met with the Headmaster.”

Oh.

_Shit._

.

.

“Gemma, thank you for coming on such short notice.” The tall, russet-brown woman adorned in Trainee Healer’s robes waved a hand, taking a seat opposite Belladonna and Theo and pulling out a scroll of parchment.

“Don’t be such a Gryffindor, Theo. If you hadn’t placed me under your protection the moment you reached Hogwarts, I would have never made it into the accelerated Healer program. If you want a discrete check-up, it’s the least I can do. And you,’ Belladonna found herself trapped by strange amber eyes that reminded her of a hawk, ‘it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Belladonna Potter. Theo has told me much about you.”

Belladonna eyed the ex-Slytherin Prefect, who seemed genuine, but Belladonna had known many snakes in her lifetime to take it for granted. Theo had vouched for the woman, however, and had reassured Belladonna that Farley knew how to keep her mouth shut. Mind, this entire meeting was at Theo’s insistence, the Slytherin agitated and pacing, because apparently she had _forgotten_ important plans that they had made, including the small titbit of applying for different schools, and getting the results within the next week. A meeting with Professor Liert, another with Monsieur Delcroix, the withdrawal forms she had filched from the cat professor’s desk. And finally, the true events of the final task, which had happened barely twenty-four hours ago. Which was why herself and Theo had snuck out of Hogwarts using a passage the Weasley Twins had shown her that led right out to Honeydukes, bypassing the school gate and most of the detection wards.

“The pleasure is mine.” She replied, strained, and Farley grinned at her.

“Excellent! Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let’s get down to business. This,’ Farley gestured to the scroll, ‘is a varied contract for both patient and Healer to sign, with Theo as witness. Summarized, it means that if I tell anyone the results about this, you have the right to kill me, if I somehow manage to survive the backlash of breaking an Oath. Since you are Heiress to three Ancient Houses, I thought you might like this one better than the standard contract, which has far too much wriggle room.”

“Thank you for the foresight, Healer Farley.” Belladonna managed to get out, fingers twitching impatiently. Healer Farley seemed to sense the irritation that was building, and pulled out a quill, and another scroll.

“Sign, and then three drops of blood on the second parchment. That will give me a read-out of anything that has affected your body for the past ten years. Afterwards, the scroll will be sealed and sent to your Gringotts Vault, or one of your choice.”

Belladonna signed, eager to get this over with. They may be in a secure room, in the dingiest pub in all of Scotland, but the longer her and Theo were missing from the castle, the quicker someone would notice that Luna was alone, and that they were gone. Which meant search parties, and lectures, and the fact that Belladonna was supposed to be on bed rest until the Saturday coming. She was hopeful that when questioned, Luna would direct them to the Beauxbatons coach, where Fleur would stall them. Failing that, Cedric and Viktor would also cover for her, each claiming her as being with them, or last seen somewhere in the castle. She pricked her finger with the point of one of her spare knives, squeezing it a little for the required three drops, before applying pressure to halt any more blood. The parchment flashed thrice; white, black and grey, before elegant cursive started to inscribe itself, the black ink lacking any of the splotches and marks Luna’s homework was prone to, filling the parchment, speeding up as it got further down the page.

“The actual _fuck?_ ” The lines of numbers, letters and formulas made no sense to Belladonna, and it irked her that she could only pick out a few symbols relating to alchemy, but it obviously meant something to Farley.

“What’s wrong?” Theo demanded sharply, but Farley ignored him, fingers tracing the bottom of the page, bristling with rage.

“Memory alterations, yesterday. Another, four weeks ago. Severe magical exhaustion…the Final Task?” When Belladonna nodded, Farley pointed to a line of symbols higher on the page.

“Attempted dose with a low level love potion. Thrice within the space of a week. And here, a mid-level poison. Memory alterations. Memory erasure. Alterations. High-level hex, mid-level curse. A month of nutrient potions. Ms Potter,’ Farley turned to glare at her, ‘what _the fuck is going on?_ This looks like the record of an Auror, or even a criminal. _Not_ a schoolgirl.”

“My memory has been altered several times, correct?” Belladonna deflected the question. “Is the magical signature the same?” Farley looked at a line of symbols, and then nodded.

“Yes.”

“The Headmaster.” Theo gritted out. “The love potion may have been the youngest Weasley son, around the time of the Yule Ball. He seemed oddly desperate to get your attention.”

“What the… _basilisk venom?_ ” Oh, yes, Belladonna had forgotten about that.

“ _What?”_ Theo all but hissed, and she remembered that she hadn’t told Theo or Luna about the fang that had pierced her arm, only to be healed by the rather magnificent phoenix that had the misfortune of hovering around the Headmaster.

“Second year. A mild accident.”

“A mild accident.” Farley parroted, voice suspiciously deadpan, face blank. Belladonna gave her an insincere smile.

“It won’t happen again, hopefully.”

“Basilisk poison aside, it’s around the time that you’re nine that I’m most concerned about.” Farley continued, eyeing Belladonna cautiously, as if the ravenette (or blonde, but the charm hadn’t dissipated, thankfully) were seconds away from killing her. Farley’s wand tapped the parchment, and Belladonna drew her eyes to the condensed text, much thicker than the other parts.

“Oh?”

“Several potions were administered, along with an obscure ritual to do with…three sets of blood, but the details are unclear to me. My superiors might have an idea, or the Unspeakable’s, but I’d rather avoid dragging them into this. And so many memory modifications, plants, erasure and replacements. Whoever was doing this was a Master at the craft, and any attempt to change it could backfire.”

“So my memories are gone for good, then?”

“Not quite. I say erased, but it’s more like…supressed.” Farley hurried to explain. “Most ‘Obliviated’ memories return in time, unless the victim’s mind is so broken that their psyche is permanently damaged. However, I’m training to specialise in Dark Hexes and Curse Removal, not Mind Healing, so I don’t know much on the subject. However, there are two things that concern me. One, is that this should go back to when you are four or five, but it stops at nine. Most irregular, and it’s as though you weren’t magical until that age.”

“Is that even possible?” Theo asked, frowning, and Farley bit her lip.

“If she had blocks put on her by her parents, yes. Sometimes, if an infant is showing early signs of accidental magic, parents will put a block on their core to stop the outbursts from happening more frequently. It’s common in the older families, not so much now. The second issue, is this line of symbols here.” Farley pointed to the very top of the page, where everything began. “I have seen this once before, but I am ninety-nine percent certain that it is what I think it is.”  
“And what, exactly, is that?” Belladonna demanded, her patience wearing thin.

.

“A gender-change potion.”

.

“What does that mean?” Belladonna asked after a thick, tense silence had fallen, wanting to know the answer but dreading it all the same. Farley looked sympathetic, but continued on.

“It means, Ms Potter, tying it in with the three blood samples, means that not only are you not a Potter, Black or Peverell, but that you were once male. If this gets out, you could be charged for line theft, murder, and possibly receive the Kiss.”

“Can it be undone?” Belladonna wanted to know, Theo’s face ashen as he examined the web of numbers and symbols that made up the potion Farley had indicated. Her heart sank as Farley looked torn between apologetic and horrified, and she knew the answer before the ex-Slytherin told her.

“Without damaging your core and possibly losing your magic? No.”

“Is there no other way?” Theo asked, sounding desperate. “Can’t she just take the potion again?”

“Theo.” Belladonna murmured, but Farley beat her to it.

“If she did, the amount of high-level potions circling in her system could prove to be fatal, especially during puberty and the magical changes that occur then, and the fact that the basilisk venom is _still_ in her system, along with the phoenix tears that constantly negate it. _Anything_ could react negatively; it’s a medical miracle that Ms Potter is still alive, let alone cast any magic. Especially to the level displayed in the first task. Any ritual could disrupt the magical equilibrium she had already attained, and any attempt to flush the potion could flush the wrong thing from her body, such as the phoenix tears.”

“So nothing can be done?” Belladonna asked, feeling the back of her throat start to tighten, and to her embarrassment, the itching feeling that signified the formation of tears. Farley, still looking shocked on her behalf, gave her a sympathetic smile, although it was strained.

.

“No. It’s irreversible.”

.

.

**Omake**

Despite what others thought, Mammon still kept in touch with the other Arcobaleno. They wouldn’t play favourites, but Skull had always been the adorable puppy type; stupid, and eager, but still cute. Skull would mostly complain about how he missed stuntwork and riding his bike, or about whatever moronic familigia he’d managed to get himself trapped in that month, but occasionally, Skull would update them on how Ookado (a rare breed of magical octopus that Mammon had sourced for his birthday) was faring. Hearing about the jaunts the two would go on (they had been in Germany last time Mammon had checked in) never failed to make the miser smile at the childlike wonder Skull held in his voice. Mammon knew that as an ex-street rat, Skull had never really gotten to see the world, but now…

They avoided talking to Reborn and Verde. Reborn gave them a headache, and Verde, well…Mammon had heard about the human experiments from Skull, and had not been impressed. At all. Scientists and Mammon generally didn’t mix well, for anyone.

Lal was good to talk to, if not a little formal, and Colonello always called them for love advice on wooing Lal, which made things interesting. She did remember one drunk phone call from Colonello after a failed Valentine’s Day, that Mammon would have been a better Sky than Luce, and that had hurt (they still ached after Luce’s betrayal), but they tried their best to keep the Arcobaleno together (they had lost too many family members, they couldn’t afford to lose more).

Tonight, however, after the events of the Cloud Battle, Mammon sat perched on the roof of the hotel they were staying at, staring at the number on the screen. They had been fond of the Storm Arcobaleno…who where they kidding, Mammon had the biggest crush on Fon for _decades_ , even after the curse was in place. Which explained why they were staring at the contact details, blushing like a school girl about to confess, the Mist debating whether or not to call…

.

They pressed the button.

The phone rang once, twice…

“ _Ni hao?”_ Mammon’s breath caught, and they scolded themself for being so silly. Lord, if Cassiopeia could see them now, swooning like a teenager over the sound of his voice…

“Fon.” They greeted coolly ( _dammit, not too cool, Mammon)_.

“ _D_ _úsh_ _é_.” Fon greeted, a warm tone in his voice, and Mammon ignored the fact that he had apparently given them a nickname, even if it was simply ‘ _viper’_ in Mandarin (they weren’t swinging their legs over the edge, deliriously happy about how _fond_ Fon sounded). “ _To what do I owe the pleasure?”_

Mammon took a deep breath, knowing this conversation could go two ways.

“Vongola has named its heir.” They began, knowing that the Storm was so tied up with the Triads that he wouldn’t have heard.

“ _Oh? Xanxus?”_ Mammon cringed, glad that their Sky was busy being pestered by Lussuria about tomorrow’s battle, and was not in earshot. They hadn’t realized that Fon was _that_ out of touch with the internal workings of Italian Mafia; they had thought that the Storm Arcobaleno had his own contacts, but obviously not.

“Xanxus wasn’t eligible on a blood technicality.”

“ _Ah.”_ There were several layers to that syllable that Mammon didn’t care to dissect. “ _Then who?”_

“Sawada’s son, Tsunayoshi. Small thing, a bit delicate, but he has heart.”

“ _You’ve met…the Ring Battles.”_ Fon surmised, and Mammon hummed in answer, staring up at the sky with a stupid smile on their face at the Storm’s next words. “ _I assume you won, being the most talented Mist out there.”_

“Flatterer.” Mammon teased. “Of course I did. The poor little Mist I faced was missing _organs_ , Fon. She was _possessed_ by Rokudo.” Anger crept into their voice, before the miser took a deep breath.

“That wasn’t why I called you, however.”

“ _Oh?”_

“The Cloud Battle was today.” Mammon began, a gleeful note evident in their tone as they remembered the events of the past five hours. “And you won’t _believe_ what your great-nephew did…”

.

.

**.**

**Ring Battles-Sky**

.

“The Battle for the Sky Rings shall now begin!” The pink-trash declared. The fluffball fell into a stance, guard up, and Xanxus rolled his eyes, the beginnings of cramp starting to make itself known in his thighs. The fluffball just looked like a puffed up kitten; cute, defenceless, and not about to do much damage. He sighed, and then pulled the ring out of his pocket.

“Fuck this shit.” He muttered, before announcing, “I forfeit,” as he tossed it at the fluffball.

His Guardians didn’t twitch, which meant that they had figured out his plan without him telling them. The fluffball stared at him, eyes wide. The brats had fallen silent in shock.

“W..w..what?” The pink trash stuttered, and Xanxus turned his gaze to them.

“I forfeit. I’ve been out of ice for less than four months; there’s no way I’m gonna fight. Not with my medic staring holes in me.” He gestured to Lussuria, who smiled and waved cheerfully as he continued. “Technically, I’m still on bed rest.”

“Why were you in ice, Xanxus-san?” The fluffball trembled, and Xanxus turned his gaze back to him.

“Because I did stupid shit, the old man reacted badly and lacked the balls to defrost me after a couple of months. Six years is a long time to freeze. Lussuria’s a goddamn miracle worker, but they’re not perfect. That I’m standing now, and not in a coma still, is a testament to their skill.”

“Boss, honey, you sure say the sweetest things!” Lussuria cooed. The fluffball considered this, before he paled.

“So if I make a mistake in leading the Vongola, I’ll be frozen?” he shrieked, and Xanxus frowned.

“What the fuck, fluffy? Who told you that?”

“Reborn.” Xanxus groaned. _He should have fucking known._

“Listen, fluffy, Reborn knows shit about running Vongola. If you make a mistake, you fix it. You don’t get frozen. Making a mistake compared to planning and executing a coup or hostile takeover, whichever way you want to look at it, are two very different things.”

“This is most irregular…” The pink trash continued, and Xanxus interrupted them.

“Fuck up, trash. You’re not needed, now go hassle the old man for your money.” He waved his hand in a clear dismissal. There was a ‘ _kamikorosu’_ , a shriek, and the sound of metal hitting flesh as the Cloud brat leapt after the Cervello trash, followed by a groan of ‘ _Slaugh’_ from Yosei as his own Cloud joined in the chase.

“See you around, fluffy.” Xanxus gave the fluffball a wave and a half-grin, making his way back to his Guardians. “SLAUGH! WE’RE LEAVING!” He bellowed at his Cloud, the brunette dropping to the ground next to him, radiating disappointment.

“I wanted to help.” They mumbled, and Xanxus ruffled their hair, ignoring the growl.

“You and Hibari can go on dates when you’re much older, Slaugh. We have to report in to the old man, and get back to VARIA HQ.”

“Fuck the old man.” Slaugh bit out, staring longingly to where the Cloud brat was hunting the Cervello across the school, possibly ogling the lithe form of the Cloud brat. Xanxus grinned, and pushed them along, urging them to keep moving.

“That’s the spirit. I’m sure your Cloud would disagree, however.”

“He’s not my Cloud.” Slaugh snapped.

“Not yet, anyway, honey!” Lussuria trilled, the Sun draped over Yosei, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Give it a couple more years, despite how much I want nieces and nephews to spoil.”

“Nieces and….” Slaugh trailed off, and turned bright red. “FUCK OFF, ALL OF YOU!!!!” They shouted, burying their face in their hands.

“Voi, Lussuria can be their aunt, I want to be The Godfather.” Squalo teased, and Slaugh glared.

“Fuck off, Superbi.”

“Enough.” Xanxus ordered. “Stop teasing the cloudling, and get your stuff. Wheels up in ten; I’ve had enough of Japan for the time being.” More like the stupid Sawada-trash, but he wasn’t going to mention that.

“As have I.” Mammon agreed, tetchy. “I’ve wasted enough time here; I need to resume the search.”

And like that, the high spirits plummeted as Mammon served the reminder of what, or who they were missing. Xanxus turned away to hide his grimace at the thought of returning to Italy where the old man would question his every decision, and Sawada trash would antagonize both him and his Guardians, and there was no Belphegor (an empty room, still filled with knives and wires and the ‘treasures’ he’d brought back from missions, covered in a layer of dust).

“Please, Belphegor,’ Xanxus stared up at the night sky, the stars winking coldly, ‘be safe.”

.

.

.

.

**VARIA HQ- Present Day**

.

The scream of frustration echoed around VARIA HQ, and Xanxus looked up from the latest batch of paperwork Squalo had given him to look over ( _voi, catch you up to speed on the happenings of the last six years_ , the Rain had smirked, two mooks behind him holding enormous boxes filled to overflowing with paper) to stare in the direction it came from. Namely, the Mist Office. He glanced at the paper littering his desk, and the stacks on every available flat surface, and then once more at the door, and sighed.

“Fuck the paperwork.” He muttered, standing up with a groan as his back clicked, and he went in search of his Mist Officer.

.

Normally, the Mist Office was layered in illusions to put the visitor at ease, like some twisted form of a psychiatrist’s office. Xanxus had seen a café, jungle, a forest, a dungeon (when Mammon had been feeling particularly vicious), several different types of sitting rooms and a rose garden. Today, however, it was a scene straight from Hell. Literally.

Flames licked in the cavernous depths, lava flowed around the small path that led to the desk (on a raised dais, complete with an obsidian throne), Mammon’s pet snake coiled around a pillar and hissing angrily, the miser themselves radiating a miasma of Killing Intent, and distant screams echoing around the room. Xanxus debated leaving the miser to their misery, but squared his shoulders and strode forward, narrowly avoiding a chunk of ceiling that splashed lava at his face, the heat singeing some of his hair as he dodged. He didn’t _really_ want to know what had put Mammon in such a bad mood (hopefully, VARIA still had enough funds to keep going), but it was his duty as Sky to hold the Mist and…fuck, he couldn’t remember the rest of the trash the old man had tried to shove down his throat. Something about the Mist covering the Sky? Whole ‘propaganda’ crap was useless anyway. Mist’s weren’t always devious and sneaky; Nagi from Mist was the most blunt, upfront assassin he’d ever met, and had the odd habit of confusing their targets with loud noises before killing them.

“Mammon.” He called, and ducked to avoid the spear that had shot out from a stone pillar.

“What?” Mammon snapped, directing their glare from where they were trying to set the map on fire, to burn holes through Xanxus’ soul. Xanxus clamped down on his knee-jerk reaction to flee from a pissed off Mist (he liked his mind intact, personally), and raised an eyebrow.

“I came to see if everything was alright, and to identify bodies, if necessary. However, if its paperwork giving you trouble, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. So…”

“I am this close to burning down the entirety of the UK!” Mammon hissed, holding their chubby forefinger and thumb less than a centimetre apart. “ _This fucking close_! Belphegor appeared in some small hole called Little Hangleton two days ago, but when I sent my contacts to go look, all the inhabitants were ancient crones and decrepit has-beens! Now, the stupid dowsing pin is back where it started; in the middle of ARSE-END NOWHERE!!!!”

Xanxus ventured a look at the map, where a red pin was indeed planted in the middle of nowhere, the nearest towns a decent distance away not to rouse any sort of suspicion. No doubt his Mist had already searched most of Scotland from the tip to the bottom, and most likely all of England as well, and their contacts in the UK were some of the best (which was why the VARIA never really had to do assassinations there; Mammon already had it sorted), along with the long-term assignment assassins based in York.

“Are you sure this is the location?” He asked, wanting conformation.

“Has my scrying ever failed before?” Mammon retorted, voice cold and haughty, and Xanxus had the odd feeling of being scolded, as if Mammon were an old aunt or even grandmother…no, no, nope. He abandoned that train of thought as quickly as he could, and conceded that no, Mammon’s scrying had never failed. Perhaps it was an underground base of sorts, or even dug into a hillside like some form of evil hobbit.

“Voi! Boss, what was the screaming about?”

“Everything alright, Mammon darling?”

Xanxus turned around, and spotted his other three Guardians standing at the door, Slaugh admiring the décor with an odd look on her face. Lussuria made their way towards the desk, Squalo following cautiously in their footsteps, a hand on Slaugh’s arm dragging the Cloud along, Slaugh kicking the door shut behind them into a mooks face. The oddball three reached the dais, and stared at the map.

“Voi, this is…”

“Yes.” Mammon confirmed, testy. “This is what has been showing up ever since we got back from the Ring Battles. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to get my contacts anywhere near the spot.”

“Mammon, darling,’ Lussuria began, frowning, ‘is it possible that another Mist is involved? As in, it’s their Territory, and they simply fool your contacts into thinking that they have been there and found nothing?” Mammon stared at Lussuria, the black miasma dying away a little.

“It is a possibility.” The miser conceded. “My contacts don’t often deal with Mists, and redirection is often hard to combat if you don’t know about it.”

“The question still remains, however,’ Xanxus growled, feeling his temper rise, ‘who the fuck _stole my Storm?_ ”

“There aren’t any families in the UK who could match Belphegor in outright combat.” Lussuria mused. “If they had attempted it, we would have heard about it.”

“Voi, it only takes a clever trap to capture the unwary.” Squalo added quietly. “He’d just finished his assassination, and had let me know that he was coming back. They could have caught him as soon as he stepped out of the alley. There aren’t many threats in England; perhaps someone decided that now was a good time to capture the VARIA Storm.”

“I will kill them.” Xanxus decided. “I will break them, I will flay them, cover them in salt, and _then_ burn them. A nice, long, slow, torturous death. Maybe more, depending on Belphegor’s condition when we get him back.” He couldn’t afford to deal in ‘if’s’ and ‘maybe’s’; they were going to get their Storm back, or die trying.

“Slaugh, you’re Scottish, aren’t you?” Mammon asked, tone desperate. Xanxus turned to look at the so-far quiet Cloud, who looked mildly uncomfortable. They hadn’t met Belphegor, so maybe they felt like an outsider to the situation.

“Yes…” Slaugh narrowed their eyes. “What of it?”

“Can you tell me what is located here?” Mammon gestured the map, and the red pin sticking out of it. Xanxus watched as Slaugh stared at it, and then frowned.

“The Cairngorms. The Highlands. Some call it the Heart of Scotland.”

“Any towns or villages?” Lussuria asked, and Slaugh shook their head, arms coming up to wrap around themselves in a hug.

“Wasteland.” Slaugh replied, eyes far away. “Cold. Can’t stop.”

“Slaugh?” Yosei started to speak, but Xanxus held up a hand, silencing the Storm. The Cloud Officer continued, clutching themselves tightly.

“They’ll catch me.” Slaugh whispered. “Have to keep moving, can’t stop. Have to get out. Too cold, frozen. _Help me_. For Theo, and Luna. Have to help Belladonna. Have to get out. Get to The Seat, safe house, family will help. Have to hide, stay hidden…” Slaugh descended into ramblings in what was most likely Gaelic, Xanxus picking up a few English phrases that made no sense. Delta X? Wisps? Cornish Pixie? _The fuck?_

“Voi, boss, what’s she saying?” Squalo muttered lowly as the Cloud Guardian continued to switch between languages; he recognised Ancient Greek and Latin, but the others…

“I’m not entirely sure.” Xanxus admitted

It was Mammon however, who silenced the room.

“You’re a witch.” Slaugh stopped muttering, and turned to stare at Mammon, eyes wide and face pale, a look of shock painting their features. And…fear. There was fear in Slaugh’s eyes, along with caution and wariness. The Cloud’s hand strayed towards their left sleeve, and Xanxus tensed, knowing Slaugh kept a knife up there.

“Mammon, darling, that was uncalled for.” Lussuria reprimanded after a long silence had fallen, but Slaugh shook their head.

“Officer Mammon is right.”

“Voi, you shouldn’t call yourself names…”

“ _Expecto Patronum.”_ Slaugh interrupted, and Xanxus’ jaw dropped as a giant, glowing…bird-horse thing streaked through with violet flew around the room. Even Mammon seemed stunned, as the fiery depths of Hell were replaced with wide open skies and a grassy field.

“ _C’est impossibile.”_ Squalo breathed, reaching out a hand as the beast stopped before him, only to gape as his hand went right through it. “Voi! What the hell is...?”

“It’s called a Patronus, born of positive emotions, but we are taught that it is only happiness that can produce one.” Slaugh explained, the beast turning away from Squalo and nosing at Slaugh’s hand, Slaugh patting it easily, before it vanished in a swirl of silver.

“Taught?” Yosei picked up, still staring at the spot were the beast had been. Slaugh, Xanxus noticed, looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“There is a school, for…others like me. It is hidden from normal eyes, and isn’t on any map. It is located perhaps a few miles north of where Officer Mammon has placed the pin.” They elaborated, and Mammon seemed to shrink in on themselves, before turning away. _Interesting._ Had Mammon known about the school, but didn’t go to it?

“Can you get us there?” Xanxus wanted to know. They were _so close_ , he could feel it. That was why he was surprised when Slaugh withdrew into themselves.

“I can.” They whispered. “But…I can’t go back.”

“What?” Squalo’s voice was a hiss, and Slaugh snapped their gaze up to meet with the Rain Officer’s.

“I won’t go back to Hell, Superbi.” They bit out. “I almost died trying to get out.”

“Your fellow Officer could be trapped in that stupid school, and you would just leave them there?” He growled, and he took a step closer, Slaugh standing their ground but looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“The entire place is a pit, filled with venomous snakes, traitors and smiling backstabbers.” Slaugh snarled. “While I was in there, my memories were altered so many times I could barely discern reality and fantasy. I had tried to escape thousands of times before, but at the end of the staircase awaits the spider, the puppet-master, the _murderer_. You are familiar with the poem by Howitt, are you not?”

 _““Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly,  
‘Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;  
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,  
And I’ve a many curious things to shew when you are there.”  
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “to ask me is in vain,  
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”_ Yosei recited, earning a few impressed looks from the others present. Slaugh gave Yosei a sharp grin.

“And I never came down the winding stair without some part of me missing.” Slaugh uttered, before turning back to Squalo, eyes hard. “I escaped from the school. I ran away, and crossed the Cairngorms in the dead of winter when I had just turned thirteen. I was chased across Scotland, hunted by extremists, for three months before my cousin tracked me down and took me back to The Seat.”

“Voi.” Squalo whispered into the sudden silence, staring at Slaugh in a new light. Xanxus was hard pressed not to gape. Slaugh had been _thirteen_ when she had escaped from her school. _Thirteen._ And from a civilian background, in the dead of winter (Scottish winters were harsh, he remembered that from a stakeout in the early days), for three months. Some of the newer assassins had barely passed survival training (two weeks in the desert, one in snow, one in the jungle or forest), Slaugh had done so five years younger than the greenest mook. Unbidden, a thought rose to the forefront.

‘ _Hardcore.’_

“I will lead you to the castle known as Hell.” Slaugh agreed, quiet. “But not once will I step foot on the grounds, nor shall I venture inside. I shall contact my cousins to see if they are able to lend their assistance in this matter, if it is agreeable to you, Boss.”

“Why should we trust these ‘cousins’ of yours? Will they not betray us?” Lussuria questioned, ever the wary Sun. Slaugh raised an eyebrow.

“Who do you think told me about the CEDEF and the VARIA in the first place? One is in CEDEF Housekeeping, another owns a café frequented by your assassins. If they have not spilled your secrets before, then they have no reason to now. It will be easier to have a contact in place already. Decide who is coming with me, and I will make arrangements.”

“I’ll go.” His Sun immediately volunteered, and Xanxus didn’t have the heart to say no.

“As will I.” Mammon offered. “There may be a need for a rapid extraction.”

“And Slaugh, so that makes three.” Xanxus interrupted his Rain. “This will need to be quick and quiet. Squalo will pilot and provide backup, Yosei and I will monitor comms, and Levi-trash. He can’t know about this, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Boss!” They all saluted in sync, and Xanxus scowled.

“Get going trash.” They all filed out, Mammon pestering Slaugh for details about the layout, the terrain, any obstacles they might face, while Squalo headed off for the runway to prep the VARIA jet.

“Lussuria.” Xanxus called, and the Sun paused, turning back to face Xanxus.

“Yes, boss?” Xanxus stared his Sun in the eyes, and tried to convey his meaning without words, trying to _find_ the words.

“Bring him home.” He got out, and Lussuria nodded, a smile twitching at their lips.

“Of course. The Storm will return to the Sky eventually.”

.

.

.

.

**Omake- for voidmarijo!**

**.**

On the jet, after they had finished interrogating Slaugh for all the details about this new world that he had no clue about, including all the history of the past sixty years that Slaugh could remember without a textbook (and it explained _so much_ as to how Slaugh was so out of date with the real world events, if that was all they were taught in History), Xanxus leaned back against the seat, trying to process everything. _Magic._ Honest to God _magic_ , straight out of the _Black Cauldron_ and _Hocus Pocus_ and _The Witches_. Wand-waving, enchanting, potion brewing in a cauldron _magic_. It was a hard concept to wrap his head around. And a war that Xanxus hadn’t even heard about, that killed thousands. A serial killer and a terrorist cell had been the cover, but Xanxus hadn’t heard about any of those things (he had been a kid then, but still). He wondered for a moment if Tyr and Nonna had known, and then dismissed it. _Of course_ Nonna would have known; he wouldn’t have been surprised if she knew about the Grindlewald thing in World War Two. But a war that ripped a hidden world into two sides and the remainder were killed off? That was some serious shit, right there.

“Slaugh.” Xanxus began, frowning in thought. “You told us about this civil war between the two factions, but surely they had better names than ‘Light’ and ‘Dark’.”

“The Light side of the war rallied under Albus Dumbledore, the defeater of the Dark Lord Grindlewald, which coincided with the end of World War II. Dumbledore, now Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, personally led the defence and the attacks against the Dark Faction, along with prominent members of society, and the well-known vigilante group, The Order of the Phoenix.” Slaugh recited, as if from a history book. Heck, for all Xanxus knew, they probably were. The fact that a vigilante group had been well-known during a war was also an indicator of how bad it had been for Slaugh’s people.

“The Dark faction was led by a man called Thomas Riddle, self-styled Lord Voldemort. His followers, previously known as an equal rights group by the name of ‘Knights of Walpurgis’, were later called ‘Death Eaters’, in reference to the snake-and-skull tattoo borne on their left forearms.” Slaugh continued, pausing when a snicker interrupted her storytelling. As one, the Guardians turned to stare at Squalo, who was muffling his laugher behind his flesh hand.

“Lord ‘ _Flight-of-Death’_? Voi, sounds like a villain from a trashy eighteen-hundred’s novel.” He sniggered, and Xanxus felt his own lips twitch. He’d forgotten that Squalo, although attending Mafia School, had lived in France during the early years of his life. Italian was his third language; the first two being French and English.

“Death Eaters?” Lussuria parroted, hiding a smile with a manicured hand. “And their boss was called ‘flight of death’? Who was eating whom, I wonder.”

Squalo lost the battle with his laughter, and collapsed to the ground, howling. Xanxus chanced a look at Slaugh, who was looking…stupefied, yet enlightened.

“Cousin Severus told me that they always had to kneel at his feet when he summoned them.” They commented, and the room erupted into laughter, Xanxus holding his sides as the burn scars ached with the force of his mirth.

“VOOIII!!! Slaugh, how did you not notice this sooner?”

“Too much terror instilled in the mindless masses prevented me from making such acute observations in the behavioural patterns of Dark Lords and their followers.” Slaugh retorted, a smile tugging at their lips, and Xanxus grinned at them.

“Maybe you should tell your cousins this.”

“Maybe I should.” Slaugh agreed, a smirk crossing her face. “No doubt they will find it as amusing as you did.”

.

.

Two weeks later, in a hall located at the very heart of The Seat, booming laughter echoed around as a sea of Snape’s, Prince’s, Dunbar’s, McLachlan’s and a few other allied families reacted to the letter that their cousin, Fay, had sent them. It was always good to hear from those who had left The Seat, but Fay’s antics were by far the most hilarious and interesting.

In a small corner, hidden in the shadows and out of the way of everyone, two men stood; one with a horrifically scarred face, the other a few years younger, with twin sai’s hanging from his belt.

“Only you, Fay,’ Vespasian began, shaking his head in amusement, ‘would go to Italy and end up in the VARIA instead of the CEDEF.”

“She’s a Prince, and a Violet Aspect.” Severus snorted. “What did you expect?”

“Still, Severus, did you really have to kneel at his feet?” Vespasian began, a smirk twisting at his lips. “Was kneeling all he…”

“I suggest,’ Severus began, a smile twisting his scars, ‘that you choose your next words _very_ carefully. Else my hand might slip.”

Vespasian, frozen with a knife pressed to his carotid (he hadn’t even seen Severus _move_ , the fuck?), could only make some form of agreeing sound, and made a mental note to warn the others about mentioning the kneeling thing around the ex-triple spy.

They only had so many cousins to spare.

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	14. Hell Itself Breathes Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> "Tis the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and Hell itself breathes out…" Hamlet, William Shakespeare
> 
> .
> 
> .
> 
> 'The Troubles', U2
> 
> .

“You knew.” Was the accusation that fell from her lips, the blond boy… _Belphegor_ , smiling sadly at her.

“As I told you before, I am you.”

“You could have…no, you should have told me.” Belladonna hissed, and Belphegor straightened out of his slouch, smiling vanishing.

“You wouldn’t have believed me. And what then?” His voice raised in a shout. “I lost everything! My identity, my family, my Familigia! I lost all sense of time, couldn’t speak to you for the first four _fucking years because the old man was watching!_ I lost my own fucking _body._ How do you think _I_ feel?”

“ _I AM A LIE!”_ Belladonna screamed back. “Not even my body, not even my _thoughts_ are real! I am a construct of what everyone expects, what everyone needed!”

A thick, pregnant silence fell, both breathing heavily, Belladonna surprised to feel wetness on her cheeks, mirrored on the boy’s face, and she slumped to the ground, head bowed. Her hair fell in thick waves over her face, and she muttered the spell to cancel the colour charm, the black bleeding into ash blonde.

“I was the VARIA Storm Guardian.” Belphegor sat down opposite her, close enough that their knees touched, and rested his hands on top of hers. “I was often called the Bloody Prince, Prince the Ripper, the Red Prince of the North. A master of knife-work and wires, an elite assassin, Bonded to the most bloodthirsty Sky the mafia has ever seen. I was picked up by the VARIA Cloud Officer when I was seven, and by the time I was eight, I was the Storm Officer. I was nine when I didn’t return home from a mission, kidnapped by the man I now know to be Albus Dumbledore.”

“I am a lie.” Belladonna replied. “Force-fed a gender-change potion, blood-bound by an ancient and outlawed ritual that would now damn me if others found out, with more memory plants and modifications than actual memories. I no longer know what is real, what the truth is, or what are lies. My magic is compromised, my life shall be forfeit, and I am surrounded by enemies.”

Belphegor squeezed her hands, and stared at her through his fringe, his eyes (she no longer felt such intense hatred, but they were still a loathed sight) piercing into hers.

“You are Belladonna Vulpecula Potter.” He began softly, and Belladonna stared at him, mouth falling open a little in shock. “You are also Belphegor of the VARIA. Prince Selaphiel of Yovigislav. Heiress, Officer, Prince. Magic is your right, just as much as Storm Flames and a crown to a broken kingdom.”

“I am a shattered knife.” She whispered, and Belphegor gave her a sharp smile.

“Knives can be reforged, Belladonna. And they can be just as sharp as they were before.”

She closed her mouth, and set her lips into a grim line, eyes hard. She twisted her fingers so that they were interlaced with Belphegor’s, and lifted her chin, feeling the weight of a crown settle on her head. Belphegor’s smile became slightly maniac, and she felt her own lips twist into a mirror image. It was if a switch had been flipped in her mind, or a fog had been lifted; everything gained clarity, and possibilities stretched before her, endless. The air was crisp and cool with every inhale, and her mind raced ahead; planning, plotting, scheming and strategizing her next move, now three steps ahead of everything.

“Do you know your next steps, _principessa?_ ” Belphegor murmured, and Belladonna stood, pulling Belphegor with her as she laughed; high, loud and cackling like the witches of old, like her ancestors that danced in the forests and cursed thousands of people who had wronged their sisters. She spun, and Belphegor laughed with her, her magic twisting and whirling around them, Belphegor’s pretty red flames dancing around their feet and arms. She stumbled to a stop, and stared into Belphegor’s eyes, gaze intense and sharp.

“Belphegor; my opposite, my mirror, myself. The Bloody Prince, Prince the Ripper, the Red Prince of the North. You once said that if our minds merged, there would be little difficulty. If we were to merge now, what would happen?”

“Belladonna.” Belphegor purred. “One of the most poisonous plants of the world, a princess of magic and witchcraft, Heiress to Three Ancient Houses. If we were to merge, the world would shake, and our enemies would burn. Our memories would intertwine, and there would be no split, no crack in our mind. I would be you, just as much as you would be me.” He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.

“We are one and the same, _Principessa._ ”

“You promise?” Belladonna breathed. “Always?”

“Forever.” Belphegor assured her, arms wrapping around her.

.

His lips touched hers.

.

The world burned.

.

.

.

Slaugh stepped out of the VARIA jet, yawning. She could have done with a few more hours sleep, but the thought of returning to Hogwarts so soon after she’d left it, and not to burn it to the ground had left her jumpy and paranoid. Not to mention she was still drained from the interrogation that her Boss and fellow Guardians had put her through. It had been difficult, dissecting the magical world; each Guardian had come at things from a different angle, the questions, and the subsequent answers, had shaken the Cloud’s view of what she had taken for granted, until she had faced the truth behind the lies the Ministry had told them. Needless to say, she’d tossed and turned for hours, thoughts and possibilities racing through her mind and refusing to quiet down in order to let her sleep. She knew that she’d kept Yosei up with her tossing and turning, but the Storm had merely handed her a cup of coffee when she had stumbled down to the lounge.

Even Officer Squalo hadn’t minded when she’d napped on his shoulder during their planning session. Even though she had drooled on his uniform.

The sharp bite of frost was enough to snap her out of her thoughts, the scent of heather and petrichor filling her nose as she stepped onto Scottish soil for the first time in months. A shiver ran up her spine as she took in their secluded location, her mind easily placing them just south of Etteridge.

_Too close. Too close to Hell._

“Voi, Slaugh, did your cousin say when they’d arrive?” Officer Squalo prodded her forward, and she shot him an annoyed glare as she stumbled down a step.

“He was sending another family member to meet us here, and he’d be at the safehouse closer to Hogwarts.” She snapped back, and the Rain Officer sent her a sharp grin with too much teeth.

“A cute cousin?”

“You’re despicable.” She hissed, regretting that she’d showed them the pictures of who was on the team. Naturally, the picture of her older cousin Viola had raised a few comments, mostly based on her attire in the picture, and the fact that it had moved.

.

“Fay.”

Slaugh stared at the figure who had appeared out of the treeline as soon as she’d set foot on the soil, mind running the body shape and voice through the mental list of relatives that Cousin Vespasian could have sent, discarding all her female relatives (which was just over half), the ones under twenty and the ones she knew were based at The Seat permanently, before the pieces fell into place.

.

_No._

.

Oh, god, the _one_ person Vespasian could have sent, and it was her _father._ This was so much _worse_ than Cousin Viola; she was going to _murder_ Vespasian when she saw him next.

.

“It’s Slaugh, da.” She replied, nevertheless going in for a hug. Her dad, a giant of a man burdened with the name of Jormungandr and all the flexibility of a snake, encompassed her in a hug which others had often compared to a constrictors embrace, but merely felt comforting to Slaugh.

“Slaugh, huh. At least the uniform looks nice.” He commented, and Slaugh resisted the urge to sigh. Supportive, yes. Totally accepting of her life choices, no. The few letters her younger brother had sent had indicated this, but at least her father was less strict on them than say, the McNamara’s, or the Branch family of Prince’s that no one really talked about (her Uncle Claudius was a menace to society, and to anyone younger than thirty-five).

“Cloudling, introductions.” Xanxus demanded, and Slaugh acquiesced.

“Boss, my father, Jormungandr Dunbar. Da, my new boss, Xanxus di Varia.”

“A pleasure.” Her father held out a hand, an easy smile on his face, but Slaugh could see the deliberate looseness of a cobra about to strike, even as her father and her boss attempted to crush each other’s hands in some semblance of a handshake. When her father turned his gaze towards the others, Slaugh hesitated, before continuing, knowing that it could go really well, or end up a train wreck. Oh, why hadn’t she thought harder about what it looked like to her parents? Their teenage daughter running around with men (and Yosei) all older than her; it was one thing when it was your cousins whom you had shared baths and showers and the occasional skinny-dip in the loch, when you knew their parents and had all the _worst_ stories, and another entirely for a bunch of assassins who were at least five years older and had questionable habits and eccentric personalities. At least Vespasian hadn’t sent Cousin _Nero,_ because Slaugh was certain that there would have been blood and screaming by now (parents should _not_ name their children after the Emperor that had played the fiddle while Rome burned, it boded ill for the future of the Family, no matter how traditional it was).

“The Second in Command, Officer Squalo Superbi. Head of Medical, Officer Lussuria. Head of R&D, Officer Yosei. Head of Finance, Officer Mammon.”

Her father bowed in general to the group, and turned to face her.

“Vespasian sends his love, but unfortunately, Heir Prince has detained him for the time being. Myself, Eira Snape, Cousin Viola and Cousin Severus will be assisting you to infiltrate Hogwarts. Fay,’ his voice dropped, and he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, cold demeanour fading, ‘are you sure you want to go back in there? You can wait outside the wards with Cousin Severus, if you’d like?”

“I have to.” Slaugh whispered. “Else I’ll fear it my whole life.”

“Voi! Lets’ get moving! The sooner we get to this stupid place, the sooner we can find Belphegor, and the sooner we can leave.”

“I apologize, da.” Slaugh spoke louder. “Officer Superbi gets grumpy in the rain. Makes his old bones ache.”

There was a snigger from Yosei, and her father’s lips twitched as Squalo shouted at her, enraged.

“Perhaps we should get out of the rain. The Snape’s have offered a safe house near Hogsmeade, and we will meet the others there. Everyone,’ he pitched his voice, the tone changing into what Slaugh recognised as his ‘Colonel Major Dunbar’ voice, ‘grab what you need, and then grab the rope, please.”

“Portkey?” Slaugh muttered to her father, surprised. “You got one from the Ministry…no, of course you didn’t. Who made it?”

“Cousin Serena has a knack for transportation magic.” He smirked back at her, before his face tightened. “Assassins, Fay, really? And an Amber Aspect, a King no less? You know there hasn’t been one in Britain for…”

“Six hundred years, Justinian Potter, Headmaster of Hogwarts, died of old age; I _know_ the stories, da. But he’s _mine.”_ The last part was hissed, and her father raised his eyebrows, an odd look crossing his face.

“Dumbledore was rumoured to be one; it would be unwise to take your King into Hogwarts itself.”

“Xanxus is staying outside, on comms, da. I’m not _stupid._ ” Slaugh retorted. “Neither is he. Besides, Officer Squalo would have my head for even suggesting it. Officer Lussuria and Mammon will be accompanying me inside, and assisting with a speedy extraction if need be.”

“Trash…” Xanxus growled, and Slaugh was disconcerted to see her father _grin_ at that; all teeth and warning, before he uttered the password.

“ _Faerie Queen._ ”

.

.

.

“Aunt Narcissa, Lord Malfoy, I have a confession to make. I am not a Black. Nor am I a Potter, nor a Peverell.”

Belladonna…Belphegor… _Bel_ stated, the scroll from Trainee Farley on the low table in front of the woman who had taught her _so much_ , and the man who was willing to sacrifice himself for her safety. She stood opposite them, hands behind her back in order to hide their shaking. Lord Malfoy was scanning the document, eyes narrowed, while Narcissa bore holes into Bel’s soul, grey eyes burning. Bel continued.

“My name was originally Belphegor, and I was part of an elite assassination group based in Italy. During a mission in England, I was kidnapped by an agent of Albus Dumbledore, and the results of the Healer’s Parchment, courtesy of Trainee Farley, speak of what happened next.”

“This is a highly questionable ritual.” Lord Malfoy broke the tense silence. “It was in favour with the older families, who of course had magic saturated into their blood, but when the newer generations tried it, it would backfire, due to the caster or the recipient not having enough magic. That you did not have any to begin with, yet survived three Ancient Houses laying claim to you, speaks volumes about your capabilities. The House Magik’s have deemed you worthy to wield their power. It is a gift, not a curse.”

“Thank you, Lord Malfoy.” Bel bowed. Lord Malfoy’s acceptance was welcome, however…

Slender fingers gripped their chin, and Bel felt themselves straighten as the cool grey of Narcissa Black’s eyes captured their own.

“Silly little raven.” She murmured, and Bel flushed. “You are my nie…kin. Blood of my blood.”

“Even if it was stolen?” Bel whispered back, and Narcissa scoffed, her other hand coming up to tug on a blonde curl.

“Every Black has stolen something at some point of their life, raven. You just…stole a little earlier than most. But know this, child,’ Narcissa leaned down, so that their eyes were level, ‘you will always be welcome to Malfoy Manor, no matter the time, no matter what you decide to do with this information.”

“I request of you to keep the original scroll safe, Aunt Narcissa.” Bel managed to get out, forcing the tears back. “I will keep a copy on my person, but if the original ever got destroyed…”

“It shall be locked in a Black Vault, dearest child.” Narcissa assured. “Now, you must go, else our….esteemed Headmaster shall discover that you used a teacher’s Floo without permission.”

“I had permission.” Bel muttered. “The starry professor let me use it when I said that it was a family emergency.”

Narcissa waved an elegant hand, dismissing their correction.

“Details, dear, details. Fly, silly little raven, and do not forget my words.” Bel bowed once more, and made their way towards the Floo, before something Aunt Narcissa had said replayed in their mind, and they frowned.

“Aunt Narcissa.” Bel called, stopping just shy of the Floo. “You said every Black had stolen something at some point.”

“Correct.”

“If I may be so bold, what did you steal?” Narcissa laughed, and draped herself over Lord Malfoy’s shoulders, the normally stoic man rolling his eyes at the display of affection, but placing a hand over his wife’s arms regardless.

“Is it not obvious? I stole Lucius’ heart, the Malfoy fortune, and my freedom.”

.

.

.

.

Officer’s Yosei and Squalo both threw up when they landed, her Sky looking a little green himself and leaning heavily on Lussuria, Mammon seated on his shoulder. Slaugh shrugged off the nausea easily, having done this since she was a child. Portkey’s were an acquired taste, but they were still the most efficient mode of Wizarding transportation, despite the…level of discomfort.

Their welcoming committee consisted of the team they had been assigned, minus the asshole who called himself Vespasian, and Slaugh found herself anticipating his arrival, if only so she could hunt him down later. Perhaps her Sky would let her, once they had found Officer Belphegor. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind, and bounced (deliberately, just to annoy Officer Squalo) over to the tallest one there.

“Cousin Severus!” She called when she was a meter away, giving the blind potion’s master time to back away if he wanted. The scars on his face warped as his lips twisted into a grin, and he opened his arms.

“Fay, or is it Slaugh now?” Severus swept her into a hug, and she found herself hugging the odd man back.

“Slaugh, and how are you, Cousin Severus?”

“Getting along. Still brewing, still irritating Vespasian, still learning new tricks. I have more control exercises that I’d think you’d like.” Slaugh beamed up at him, despite knowing that he couldn’t see it, before untangling herself and moving to give Cousin Viola a hug, the green-haired witch giving her a sly smile.

“Causing trouble as always, huh, Slaugh. Good work.” Slaugh glared at the plant witch, who merely reached out and ruffled her hair. Even though Cousin Viola was ten years her senior, she was friendly enough (and tolerant) to get on well with the younger generation. She was, Slaugh thought suddenly, remarkably like Lussuria, even with similar fashion tastes, although Viola tended more towards ‘goth-punk’ rather than ‘punk-assassin’. Viola’s specialty was plants, which included making them grow, using them to strangle people or using poisons from them to kill.

“Darling!” Lussuria exclaimed, draping themselves over Slaugh, before eyeing up Viola’s boots, the corset, booty-shorts, fishnet tights and gloves, and the sheer top, and grinning at the older witch.

“The boots are to die for! You must tell me where you got them!” Viola smiled sharply, and lifted one pointy heel.

“Made from the skin of my ex-boyfriend who cheated, and the heel from the knife I killed him with.” Lussuria matched Viola’s grin, and a low chuckle emitted from the Sun Officer.

“Like I said, to _die_ for.” They both cackled, and Slaugh shivered. She’d always wondered what had happened to Viola’s ex-boyfriend Danny, but still…Viola and Lussuria were _far_ too alike. She should have never allowed Viola to come. She should have protested, should have…

“Lussuria, was it? Tell me, where did you get that shade of green dye?”

Slaugh spotted Officer Squalo over by Eira Snape, and left the Terrible Two to their shop talk, escaping the madness before she too was inflicted. Thankfully, Eira Snape, being a woman well into her fifties, was sensible, canny, and handy with blades. Her hair may have been streaked with grey, and she may have been regulated to Surveillance after retiring, but that didn’t make her any less dangerous.

“Ms Snape.” Slaugh greeted, and Eira waved a hand.

“Eira, lass, Eira. No need to remind people that I’m a spinster and all. Needed a break?” She gestured to the two cackling green-heads, and Slaugh nodded, embarrassed, but Eira laughed.

“You’ll understand in a few years.”

“I knew about the Prince Madness, which is hereditary and shows itself in odd ways, but using the skin of your ex-boyfriend to make shoes is a new one.” Slaugh shuddered, and Eira grinned at her, with far too much teeth, picking her fingernails with a small stiletto.

“Not just the Prince’s, Slaugh. The Snape’s have their own special kind of Madness too.”

“Then I’m glad I didn’t get a double dose, like Cousin Severus.” She retorted. “To _volunteer_ to spy on both Dumbledore and Voldemort and report back to the Heads…”

“Voi, that’s the guy with the scars, right?” Squalo interrupted to clarify, and when Slaugh nodded, he whistled. “A triple agent, voi! That shit’s scary; not even I would deal in that.”

“And what is it that you do, Officer Squalo? Aside from assassinations.”

“Paperwork.” Squalo deadpanned. “And deal with shitty Lightnings when they step out of line. If I have time, I’ll supervise my Rains, but my second and third are just as capable. Research and Development, that sort of thing.”

“Trash! Assemble!” Xanxus bellowed from his place next to Jormungandr and Severus, the blind man twitching a little at the loud volume while Mammon, seated on Xanxus’ shoulder, winced.

“Voi, what are we, the Avengers? Shitty boss.” Squalo muttered, and Slaugh scoffed.

“More like the Revengers, Superbi.” Squalo shot her a proud look.

“I knew introducing you to Marvel was a good idea.”

“Trash, shut up and listen.” Xanxus growled, maps spread out over a low table. “Dunbar will be leading us right into this hole called Hogsmeade, and then remain on comms with me. Squalo will be on standby; once he gets the signal, he’ll start the jet. We’re exactly opposite this town, so we’ll be swimming across the lake to avoid detection. From there, Prince and the Snape’s will take Yosei through underground tunnels into the heart of the castle, where potion’s trash has told me that there are dungeons. They will start the search there, and make their way up the floors. Slaugh will lead Lussuria and Mammon to this…Great Hall? Slaugh, what’s your plan for finding Belphegor?”

“If Belphegor is somewhere in the castle, the only person who would know is the Headmaster.” Slaugh replied. “Dinner is at 1800 hours. Everyone is required to attend, unless they are either in the Hospital Wing or not in the castle. The Headmaster will preside over the mealtimes. He is our best bet. We will confront him, in front of the school. If he admits to kidnapping Officer Belphegor, it will destroy his reputation. If he asks to discuss it elsewhere, everyone will know that he is hiding something.”

“And the spider weaves the trap.” Yosei murmured, patting Slaugh on the head, much to her ire. “Good work, Slaugh. But what if the Headmaster refuses to talk?”

None of them were expecting Lussuria to grin sharply, and hold up a hand wreathed in Sun Flames.

“Then we make him talk.” Xanxus grinned, equally bloodthirsty, and his own hand lit up with Wrath Flames.

.

“Trash! Commence operations!”

.

.

.

.

“You were cutting it close.” Theo hissed at them as they made their way down for dinner. “You’re lucky that consulting the Oracle is not something many people want to see, otherwise they would have found out!”

“The passageway from the starry professor’s quarters was blocked.” Bel replied. “I had to take another route, and then catch a rat so that I _could_ consult the Oracle.”

“What did the Oracle tell you?” Luna asked, avoiding a hex from a small scuffle behind them. Bel sighed, and the returned-to-black curls hid their face from view.

“The ‘ _visitors from far away_ ’ has been a constant, but today it also included ‘ _a surprise’_ and ‘ _an old acquaintance’._ I’ve been wracking my brain since, but no one comes to mind, except Fay.”

“But there is no way that Fay would ever return here.” Theo nodded. “Unless it was under duress, but they have called off the search for her now, at Lord Prince’s behest. He said that she was safe, and that they were currently reviewing her education options. That was it.”

“At least Lord Prince cares about Branch Members.” Luna added. “Did you hear about the O’Donovan’s? Branch family of Stonehelm. Apparently, one of the women was murdered, and the second Mainline daughter married her husband two weeks later.”

“Despicable peasants.” Bel agreed, fingers brushing the handle of a knife Theo had lent them as they entered the Hall. Their eyes picked out Fleur and Gabrielle with the butterfly peasant at the eagle caste (Luna splitting off to join them), Cedric and the bones peasant talking with Viktor at the badger caste, Theo moving to join the ferret peasant at the snake caste. They continued on, ending up at a seat next to the Weasel Twins, the herb peasant and the artsy peasant.

“And how does the fair Heiress Potter fare today?” One twin asked, passing them one of the Russian dishes before they could ask for it.

“Adequate.” They replied, and the other twin nodded, stabbing a sausage quite viciously.

“Understandable. The professors have been cracking down hard on curfews and such. Random dorm inspections too.”

“Oh?” Bel tilted their head, curious. “I have not had anything yet.”

“Mostly Slytherin’s and Hufflepuff’s.” Heir Longbottom contributed. “Zabini overheard that they were starting in the dungeons, and then making their way up. He couldn’t catch the rest, but there was something about documents.”

“Ours was two days ago.” The first twin moaned. “Most of our pranking equipment and experiments were confiscated. Along with our notes, to be ‘searched for illegal dealings’.” He made finger quotes, and the second twin stabbed his knife into the table.

“I don’t understand _why_. It doesn’t make any sense!”

“It’s because I applied to study at Durmstrang and Mahoutokoro.” Bel answered, taking a bite of their goulash. Silence fell, before Heir Longbottom broke it.

“I applied to Castelobruxo. Their Herbology program is one of the best in the world, and as much as I enjoy having classes with Professor Sprout, I will not progress enough to go for a Mastery at this rate.”

“Wait, there are _other_ magical schools?” The artsy peasant looked upset. “I was told Hogwarts was the only school of its kind!”

“There are trade schools available.” The second twin told him. “We were going to go to one, but we got a scholarship. Ickle Ronnekins _should_ have gone to one, but somehow the scholarship was awarded to him.”

“You need a letter, though. Support from a Wizarding Family.” The other added. “Your mate Finnegan could ask his mum for you; she’s a dab hand with Runes and Rituals.”

“Heiress Bones applied for Durmstrang, Zabini’s going back to Italy with his mother. Malfoy said that he was staying, but he’s got an aunt to teach him over the summer, and an internship lined up at a private clinic in Wiltshire.” Heir Longbottom added.

“Aunt Cassiopeia, yes.” Bel nodded. “She’s a Black, and specialized in Healing. Heir Nott and Heiress Lovegood have also applied for other schools abroad.”

“It’s no wonder.” One of the Quidditch peasants cut in. “We’ve all seen how advanced Durmstrang and Beauxbatons seventh years are. Cedric is top in his classes across the board. No one else would have stood a chance, except perhaps Heir Prince, his brother, or that weird kid in Slytherin. Suddenly, Hogwarts isn’t the top school in the world anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Bel commented, stirring their food. “After this year, I’m not coming back to Hogwarts. Not even if it was burning down and I were the only one capable of casting an _Aguamenti_.”

.

.

.

The water was glacial, and Slaugh was thankful for warming charms, even if she had to cast them on the rest of her teammates. Officer Yosei had some strange bag thing on their back that clinked occasionally, so it must have contained weapons. Ahead of her, Cousin Viola and Officer Lussuria glided through the water, looking so much like sirens or creatures of the deep come up to drag the unwary down into the void. Eira and Severus, by contrast, would disappear under the water for a long time, before surfacing either side of the small group with barely a ripple for a quick breath, and then diving back down. Mammon was perched on Slaugh’s head, remaining dry, and focusing on wrapping Mist Flames around them in case they might be discovered. In the gathering dusk and gloom of the evening, they were practically invisible, but Slaugh could feel the tension rise the closer they got to the castle. They were _so close_.

And when they finally emerged from the water, silent shadows, shedding their skins like the selkies of old, Slaugh checked her knives, bid Yosei and her cousin’s farewell (and implored them to stay safe as they travelled on a different path where she couldn’t watch their backs), and led Lussuria and Mammon towards the gates, spine straight and resolve firm.

.

Unseen to her, purple flickered around her hands and hair, and her eyes glowed.

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.

.

Bel stared at the Headmaster as he made excuses for the blatant invasion of privacy that was happening at that very moment, and they were grateful that they had managed to move out of the dorms undetected. They could see the beginnings of dissent in the ranks, the disbelief and the burgeoning anger from many of their classmates and housemates. Their mail was now being monitored, their dorms and belongings searched, and it was all legal and above board, thanks to the spineless Minister. The whole inspection stemmed from the belief that the Dark Lord had returned, despite the fact that he had not (he was most definitely dead, they knew that for certain), and the prevention of budding Death-Eaters.

If anything, they were further cementing the rebellion against the older generations that had been building for years, if not decades. Too many old-guard-esque wizards in power, with less witches and far less magical users below forty sat on the Wizengamot, most witches were only on there as Regents, and didn’t actually hold a seat. Only Bones, Pendragon and soon Potter-Black-Peverell allowed their female members to head the House. But Bel didn’t plan to be in the Wizarding World when it happened. They had people to find ( _we will find them,_ Belphegor had said once, _one day, we will escape and return to the Sky)_ , people to kill, people to _burn._

They could also pinpoint those who had already decided to leave Hogwarts at the end of this year. Most had uncaring expressions, or were carefully blank. Many were snake caste, with a good mix of badger caste and eagle caste, with barely any lion caste. Remembering how the lines had been split in the last war, it was clear that many of the snake caste wished to avoid being in the country when the split happened once more. No doubt that they would be branded ‘Dark’ and locked in the wizarding prison (which was mildly better than Hogwarts, in their opinion).

Their skin prickled, as if a great discharge of electricity had been leased in the room. Catching Theo’s eye, they could tell that the teen had felt it as well. It was odd; it didn’t feel like electricity ( _greenlightninghard)_ but more like….

The doors to the Great Hall slammed open, cracking against the walls like thunder, and Bel felt something click back into place, and they stared.

“ _Impossible.”_

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.

.

Lussuria stared at the ‘Great Hall’, decidedly unimpressed with the décor. Tasteless, and so very 15th century. There was a certain aesthetic about the place, but really, it was just reinforcing every single stereotype about witches and wizards that there was. Pointed hats? Robes? Ridiculous. Even Nono’s stupid guardian Coyote had better taste than this. Even _Sawada_ had better taste, incompetent fool that he was. Urgh, the wizarding world in general was something to be laughed at, thinking that the ‘Muggles’ wouldn’t discover the existence of magic on their own, despite how blatantly obvious everything was. Once you knew what you were looking for, of course, and Mammon and that darling little Slaugh had given Lussuria _exactly_ what they needed to find the blasted enclave, despite the swim across the lake. Not to mention that absolute bombshell Viola; a woman after their own heart. They had already exchanged numbers and a promise to keep in touch.

Ah, shit, they missed the old man (who reminded them _precisely_ of Nono) asking them a question. They didn’t think it was important anyway; the looks they were getting from the tiny students were adorable! But again, they were all so very dreadfully dull. Not a single spot of colour among them. Lussuria decided to pay attention when the old man spoke again.

“My dear boy, I asked if you were looking for someone?”

Yuck. No. Paedophile. Just…ick. Gross.

“First of all, honey, I’m not a boy, least of all yours.” Lussuria began, relishing the shocked (and the disgusted, fucking bigots) looks they got, fingers inching towards one of Belphegor’s spare knives that they carried ( _lucktracecomfort)_. This man made their skin crawl, in all the wrong ways. “Secondly, I am looking for someone, whom Intel says is located here.”

( _Don’t meet his eyes,_ Slaugh had warned Lussuria, gaze distant, _there is a magic that allows him to read minds, but only through eye contact)_

“I have not heard of this Intel fellow, but perhaps I can help you.” The old man offered. “I am Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of this school.”

Lussuria could _feel_ the facial expressions of the rest of the Guardians, starting with Xanxus’ _‘is-this-trash-for-real’_ , Squalo’s ‘ _he-did-not-just-say-that’_ , Yosei’s patent deadpan expression that they used when they didn’t know how to react, and Mammon’s ‘ _you-owe-me-money-for-stupidity’_. Slaugh just felt embarrassed. Was this world so out of date that they didn’t know what fucking _Intelligence_ was? Looking around discretely, taking in the blank or apathetic faces, or the total lack of reaction of disbelief (bar a few, they must have been the ‘Muggle-raised’ Slaugh told them about) to the Headmaster’s words, Lussuria concluded that yes, they didn’t know what intelligence was.

“I know who you are, Headmaster.” Lussuria replied. “As for who I am looking for, it is simple. I am looking for Belphegor.”

The gasps of horror that reached their ears were _wonderful!_ Such shock, such calamity, oh, Lussuria wanted to giggle and cackle. Narrow-minded people where always good for a laugh. Behind them, Lussuria heard the invisible Mammon sigh in exasperation, and a soft choking sound from Slaugh at the look of confusion that flashed across the faces of the staff. Except the old man. The old man had a look of panic cross his face for the barest moment of a second, before it was covered by the ‘genial geriatric’ mask.

“The Prince of Hell does not attend school here, my dear…” The old man began, sounding both amused and patronizing, only to be cut off by Lussuria.

“ _I am not your dear anything_.” They hissed, memories of all the ringmasters and slavemasters who would caress their cheek and tell them how pretty they were, those who would touch them, grope them, and tell them that they were property and no good for anything but fighting and fucking.

“ _Lussuria_.” Came Xanxus’ voice, and Lussuria took a deep breath, reigning in their temper. Their patience, however, was wearing quite thin. Lussuria knew that they had been rather short with everyone during the Ring Battles, and it had only increased with frequency as the months went on and there was still no success with finding Belphegor, but they were _so close_. Lussuria’s Sun Flames tingled, and swept the hall again, picking up a lot of Storms, a few Mists, and even a Lightning over at the green table that was quite powerful for their age. Perhaps they’d have to come back here and recruit later.

“My apologies, my boy, a simple slip of the tongue.” Lussuria gritted their teeth, and resisted the urge to snap at the old geezer who was so senile he couldn’t remember five minutes ago when Lussuria had _clearly_ stated that they were _not_ a boy.

“Unfortunately, as I said before, Belphegor does not attend this school. I do not believe we have ever had a Belphegor in the school for the entire time it has been open.” Lussuria didn’t need to hear Dunbar’s disbelieving scoff over the comms to know that it was a lie. Their Sun Flames, spread out across the Hall, had picked up the increase in heartbeat from the old man, the sudden tapping of his fingers hidden under the table. Lussuria distantly recognized that they were switching into what Yaxkin called ‘assassin-mode’, but they couldn’t bring themselves to care.

“You are lying to me, Headmaster.” Lussuria began, voice deadly soft and laced with violence. “I don’t like being lied to.”

_There._

A flinch, and a hand that came up to stroke his beard. Definitely lying.

“I assure you, my dear boy, that I am telling the truth. Perhaps you are mistaken on both counts.”

“ _Shit.”_ Xanxus summed up.

“ _Voi, that’s the end of that.”_ Squalo agreed, but Lussuria didn’t hear them. The delicate hold on their patience snapped. This _asshole_ had the nerve to call them ‘ _dear boy’_ after he had been corrected twice already, lie to their face, and then insinuate that _they_ were in the wrong.

Sun Flames exploded outwards, and Lussuria growled low in their throat, rising to their full height.

.

This bitch was _dead._

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.

.

Mammon had seen a Sun go Supernova, once.

It had been in the early days of the Arcobaleno, when they were all young, cocky idiots (some more so than others) drunk on their own power and their new titles. They had been sent by Checkerface to eliminate a rather large Familigia who were dealing with children too often to be coincidence; sex trade, trafficking, experimentation had all been uncovered, and everyone, Skull, Lal and herself especially, had been furious. It had been Reborn, however, who had been the most dangerous, the most livid.

It had also been Reborn who had shot the Sky leading them.

It had been Fon who had killed the Lightning attacking Skull.

It had been Verde, less reliant on his inventions back then, to electrocute the Storm going for Fon.

And finally, Lal had nailed the other Mist from her position atop the neighbouring building.

The Sun, having lost his Sky, it’s fellow Guardians, and what appeared to be their lover (a lead scientist with a broken neck, courtesy of Skull) had lost his mind. They had perhaps a three second warning, before the air superheated to the point of burning skin, and Sun Flames exploded all around the compound. It had been a knee-jerk reaction to reach for magic and Flame, and transport her fellow Arcobaleno to Lal’s position, and they watched as the Sun detonated like a nuclear bomb, turning the once expansive facility with state-of-the-art tech (nothing compared to Verde’s) into a smoking crater.

Checkerface had called it a victory.

All the Arcobaleno could think about were the children and the other victims that had still been trapped inside.

Now, looking at Lussuria emitting Sun Flames like they were going out of style, eyes blazing an eerie yellow and inches away from killing everything, Mammon knew that they had to step in, before the castle they had only dreamed about became nothing more than ash. Not that they wouldn’t mind the pit of misogyny and supremacist propaganda going up in a blaze of glory, but…Cassiopeia would be so very disappointed in her. She took a step forward, only to have her cloak yanked backwards, and a jet of putrid green light fly past her nose, narrowly missing Lussuria’s ear. A warning shot. And if the invisible Slaugh hadn’t stopped her, she would have walked right into it.

Fine. Two could play this game.

Mammon dropped the illusion keeping her invisible, and simultaneously wove one to make her appear at her original height, stepping out from behind Lussuria and fixing the caster of that spell with a mild glare.

“That was rude.” She chastised, casting a mild illusion to make it appear that her eyes were glowing indigo from the shadow of her hood. From the gasps, and the sudden influx of terror, Mammon could tell that they hadn’t known she was there.

“Who the hell…?” Began an ancient looking teacher, but Mammon flicked her wrist, and he fell silent.

“I am Officer Mammon, of the VARIA, and with me are Officer’s Lussuria,’ she gestured to the Sun currently blazing with rage, ‘and Officer Slaugh.” Slaugh dropped the spell hiding her, and with the hood and shapeless uniform, no one could tell who it was underneath. Slaugh let purple fire wreath their hands, and several children shrieked and scrambled backwards. Satisfied with this for now, Mammon let their voice drop a few degrees, going from cold to glacial. “We are here to retrieve or avenge Officer Belphegor, whom we have tracked here. We would like to settle this without violence, so please, do not force our hand.”

“You speak of peace, and yet you threaten us with violence.” A young witch clothed in starry robes pointed out, the stern looking witch next to her avoiding eye contact. Mammon frowned, before a younger image superimposed on the older one.

“Minerva.” Mammon greeted, and all eyes turned to the witch.

“You have me at a disadvantage, Officer Mammon.” Minerva lied. “I do not believe we have met.”

“We haven’t.” Mammon replied, the lie coming with ease. “I am from the Italian Branch of the Coven. Added six years ago.”

“Coven, Minerva?” The Headmaster questioned, an odd look on his face. “Covens have been forbidden from forming since…”

“The Statute of 1668, yes, Headmaster, I am aware.” Minerva interrupted tartly. “I joined in nineteen forty-three. Exemption.”

“Coven’s are Dark, though, aren’t they?” a red-headed boy asked through his stuffed mouth.

“Magic is magic, boy.” That was Lussuria, glaring at the pig. Mammon hid a smile; Lussuria was always good at blending in with whatever crowd they wished, and if they were going to pretend to be a magic-wielder…Mammon certainly wasn’t going to call them on it.

“An interesting view, one I have not heard for a while, Officer…Lussuria, was it?”

“That’s correct.” Lussuria replied, still seething with rage. The Headmaster was looking at Lussuria with something close to fascination, and Mammon didn’t like it one bit.

“But surely you realise that some aspects of magic are Darker than…”

“Spare us the lecture, Headmaster.” Slaugh interrupted, stepping up next to Mammon. “We all know your opinions, and we are entitled to our own. And as for your comment, Professor Sinistra,’ Slaugh turned to face the starry robes woman, ‘sometimes violence is a necessary evil. It is a part of everyday life, with wands or without.”

Mammon caught the narrowing of the Headmaster’s eyes, and the flick of a finger, before a gust of wind blew back Slaugh’s hood, displaying her face to the world. From the sudden influx of whispers and mutterings, she was clearly well known. Slaugh, however, kept their face blank and their spine straight, staring dead into the Headmaster’s eyes.

“Ms Dunbar. Have you returned to Hogwarts to study once more?” Mammon caught the insidious suggestion laced in the Headmasters words, and was impressed with Slaugh when the Cloud did not flinch.

“I have already graduated, Headmaster Dumbledore.” Slaugh replied evenly. “I see no point in returning to a place that will not challenge me, but instead destroy me and turn me into a mindless puppet. That was, after all, your aim while I attended, was it not? My Mind Healer seemed to think so, after retrieving my memories.” Mammon was proud, ridiculously so. From the quiet ‘ _voi ’_ through the comms, Squalo was as well. The litany of swearing coming from Xanxus, however, indicated that their Sky was not happy with the Headmasters little ploy.

“Ms Dunbar…”

“My name, ‘the Cloud interrupted, speaking over the old man, ‘is Slaugh. You will address me as Officer Slaugh, and nothing else, Headmaster. The name of ‘Fay Dunbar’ no longer holds any meaning to me.”

“ _Voi, Slaugh, your old man…”_

“ _That’s my baby girl! Stick it to the fucker!”_

Mammon was close enough to Slaugh to spot the subtle clenching of the Cloud Officer’s jaw, as well as the faint dusting of pink on their cheeks, and the mutter of ‘ _Da you’re so embarrassing’_ under the Cloud’s breath.

“If you will allow an old man his curiosity, then, who has been teaching you?” The Headmaster continued, undeterred. “It is against Ministry Law to not attend a school during the term.”

Mammon caught the quick, vicious quirk of Slaugh’s lips, before the Cloud gave the Headmaster a polite smile that looked more like a ‘ _fuck you’_ than a civil expression.

“Severus Snape sends his regards, Headmaster Dumbledore.” Slaugh intoned politely, and Mammon caught the flinch from several of the older teachers, who had most likely taught the boy. The look of anguish on the Headmaster’s face was so worth it, however petty it may have seemed.

.

“I can feel his flames.” Lussuria announced abruptly, and Mammon stiffened. “Belphegor is in this room. You can either tell us where he is, Headmaster, or we’ll just start by taking all the Actives in this Hall, starting with the Lightning over at the green table and the Mist at the blue one.”

“You are threatening to kidnap my students.” The Headmaster stood, and Mammon could feel the magical power gathering around the man like a cloak, and they knew that they would have to speed this up. They let their own Mist Flames seep out, seeking the familiar Storm, twining around the little Lightning that seemed very welcoming to them (odd, normally they were quite against other flames), and the Mist that playfully prodded back, until they reached the red table, where they were…

It was then that Mammon felt the flood of stagnant Sky flames wash over her, to try and bind them to the Headmaster’s will.

Lussuria…did not take it well.

With a burst of radiant yellow, Lussuria shot forward, and punched the Headmaster in the face. Mammon, disliking the crude but effective method, slammed their shields up hard and fast, and the Headmaster clutched at his head, and his broken nose, as physical and mental pain overwhelmed his senses. Slaugh snarled, and went to attack, but Mammon held up a fist, and they halted.

“Lussuria.”

Lussuria flashed back to their side, knuckles bloody, and Mammon resisted the urge to fry the Headmaster.

“Headmaster Dumbledore, that was out of line. It is considered to be very rude to force a Bond when the people in question are already Bonded to a Sky.” Mammon was seething, and opened their mouth to deliver a scathing lecture and demand payment, but a portly man jumped up and fired spell at them. Mammon batted the jet of light aside, and Lussuria pointed a finger at the man. He dropped, screaming, and Mammon sighed, knowing that negotiations had officially gone to the dogs, and Slaugh seemed to be of the same mind.

“ _Viola, please tell me you are successful to some degree?”_

_“Yep! Bags filled with loot, and we’re exiting now. You?”_

_“There has been an unprecedented delay in the proceedings.”_ Slaugh deadpanned, watching Lussuria approach the man, the students cowering away from the raging Sun.

“Do you know what I have just done?” Lussuria purred, stalking closer to the writhing figure in teaching robes. “I have just activated every pain receptor in your body. Currently, they are on roughly ten percent output. The highest percentage an assassin managed without screaming was seventy five percent. Shall we see how high you can go?”

“Lussuria, don’t play with your food.” Mammon commanded. Lussuria waved a hand in acknowledgement, and the man screamed, the Sun Officer tutting disappointedly.

“Only twenty percent, how pathetic. I expected more from your kind.”

“’Your kind’?” A red headed boy muttered, his double looking between Slaugh and a blonde girl at his table.

“That is enough!” The Headmaster thundered, and Lussuria released the man with a disappointed sigh, dodging a red beam of light with ease and letting it hit a teacher trying to sneak up behind them. Mammon shrugged, and gestured to the man drooling on the floor.

“We did warn you, Headmaster.”

“I will not tolerate your presence…” He was interrupted by a familiar laugh, that simultaneously made Mammon want to cry and laugh and kill something.

.

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“ _Ushishishi, peasants.”_

.

Mammon felt their eyebrows rise of their own accord when they turned around to spy a small, wiry slip of a girl stood up from the red and gold table (blood and riches, hah, these cowering insects had never seen _real_ bloodshed), and faced Lussuria, silencing the hall with a laugh. Mammon narrowed their eyes underneath their hood, and examined them. Height would be about right, that laugh was scarily similar, as was the age, but…Belphegor was _male._ This imposter was definitely female. Yet…

“Did I not warn you, did I not _tell_ you, to bow before the Prince of Hell?”

“Ms Potter, that will do. Return to your seat at once.” There it was- the manipulative old man, and the derisive tone of voice that Nono had so often used on _their Sky_. Ms Potter, however, had other ideas, and took a step towards Lussuria, head tilted ( _exactly like Belphegor did when he was confused,_ Lussuria told Mammon later, _I didn’t want to hope, but…)_.

“Honey,’ Lussuria began, a wicked smile crossing their lips as they stalked towards the girl, ‘if you are fake, I will kill you. I have done so to others, and I will not make an exception for a female.”

.

 _“Kiet_.”

.

Lussuria faltered, and stopped dead. Mammon stared. _How...?_ They had only told each other their real names after Xanxus had been frozen (Mammon had admitted to being Viper, nothing else), and to hear a small ravenette speak the name so _casually…_

The girl held up a hand, a knife twirling between her fingers ( _like this, Sun and Mist peasants, so you don’t slice your fingers off)_ , before red sparked to life, and arched out across the space between them, stopping halfway, as if they were waiting for something. Mammon swallowed, ignoring the whispers ( _unnaturalfreakdarkcontain)_ , and drew on their flames, letting them manifest outside their body, and reach out towards the red fire, barely brushing against, Lussuria doing the same. If it wasn’t Belphegor, they would burn. If it was…

.

_Click._

.

Then Lussuria found themselves with a shaking armful of teenage girl, their own arms coming up to wrap protectively around the Storm, stroking their hair, and Mammon was left wondering what happened to the crown that the Prince always wore, how Belphegor was suddenly a girl with dark curls and completely different facial structure, and who they had to kill for making _their Storm_ upset. Lussuria took of their glasses, and glared at the old man, relishing the flinch their eyes got as the irises flooded with Sun Flames to make them glow, Mammon allowing Fantasma to materialize around their body and wreathing themselves in Mist Flames, glaring at the Headmaster and ignoring the screams as Fantasma hissed menacingly towards them. This was the leader, the man who had put all the plans in action, and Mammon would show them all _exactly_ what happened when you messed with the Varia.

.

“You.” Mammon pointed at him, hand already blazing, magic and Flames roiling. “You die first.”

.

.

.

Sun Flames primary use was Activation. But it was less well known that there was a secondary use for them; Heat. All Flames produced a degree of Heat to some level, but Sun Flames were the highest. Storm Flames were corrosive. Rain was mildly acidic. Cloud and Mist were the lowest. But the Sun…the bright yellow that burned and burned and burned, caused skin cancers and sunburn and killed life if it was too hot, or if there wasn’t enough, it had the most heat. The Sun had always been associated with life, but Lussuria, who had travelled across the Middle East, the blistering desert, tasted sand and starvation and thirst, knew the truth.

The Sun was a killer.

Lussuria, whom had headed VARIA medical for years, an assassin for almost a decade, was a very good killer. And as much as they wanted to wrap Belphegor (who was now female, what the _fuck_ ) in cotton wool and never let them out of their sight, they knew that they had to deal with this menace known as the Headmaster. Mammon would be content merely to leave their minds a wreckage, but Lussuria wanted _more._ They wanted this…monster to suffer, as Belphegor had suffered, as they _all_ had suffered.

“ _We’re clear.”_ Yosei’s voice brought Lussuria clarity, and an idea. They will not deny that they had assisted in the death of Yosei’s husband, the former Don Cafasso, but not before they had made him suffer. They carefully untangled themselves from Belphegor, with a mutter of ‘ _get your things’_ , to which the Storm nodded, and seemed to disappear from sight almost instantly, thankfully without questions.

“ _Superbi, start the jet.”_ Mammon ordered under their breath, wrapping illusions around the students that would make them forget this confrontation had ever happened.

“ _Voi, will be ready to go in ten.”_

Lussuria stalked forward, anticipation rising as they saw that the Headmaster had frozen under the combined force of Sun and Mist Flames…oh, Slaugh had joined in, and appeared to be propagating the effects it had on the old man. Subtle, but effective. Their Flames rose higher and higher, the heat causing many in the hall to sweat as it rose to stifling levels. And while they were all focused on the possibility of Lussuria frying them to death, the Sun Officer began their work. Slowly, cautiously, they sent a few tendrils of flames into the old man’s body, dodging the stagnant Sky Flames, and wrapping them around vital organs. The Headmaster was remarkably healthy, for such an old man, but Lussuria had easily killed healthier with this. This was their trademark, their signature, their favourite way of killing people.

They stood in front of the Headmaster, Flames churning, eyes blazing, and they smiled.

.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.” Lussuria began softly, and the old man shivered despite the heat. “To kidnap one of ours was the worst mistake you could have made. That you were so well hidden from even Mammon simply increased our ire.”

“I did what was necessary for our survival.” The Headmaster managed to get out. “For the greater good of all. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of a few.”

“Yes,’ Lussuria purred, ‘and how’s that working for you? Don’t’ get me wrong, if it was anyone else, we wouldn’t have cared. But since it was Belphegor, our Storm…” Lussuria leaned in, teeth bared, face twisted into a feral snarl.

“You deserve to suffer, as we have suffered. While you were focused on the heat, on battling Mammon’s illusions and mind-fuckery that they are so good at, my flames have assimilated into your circulatory, lymphatic, nervous and respiratory systems. Eventually, your own Flames will turn on the foreign flames, and work to destroy them, but the work will be finished. My flames will have integrated themselves so completely into your bodily functions, that as your pitiful Sky destroys my Sun, it will also destroy your own organs. Failure within a week, death within two. Agonising, slow, and completely unhealable.” Lussuria straightened, and dusted off their hands.

“My work here is done. Enjoy these last few weeks Headmaster, for they are certainly your last.”

“Wait!” The Headmaster shouted, hand outstretched towards the Sun. “I can give you power, everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

Lussuria laughed, loud and disbelieving.

“You? Give me power? You can barely stand.” Lussuria crouched back down to the Headmaster’s level.

“Lussuria, wheels up in ten.” Slaugh reminded from Mammon’s side. “We have a deadline.”

“I have a Sky,’ Lussuria uttered lowly, ‘a _home_ , friends, _family_ , and you made the mistake of hurting them. The only worthwhile things you can give me is your suffering and your death, Dumbledore. That’s the only thing I care about, in regards to you. _Ja, ne._ ”

They sauntered away from the dying man, happy that he would suffer an agonising death, and would most likely go mad with what Mammon had done to his mind (they had worked together for so long now, it was second nature to sync their flames as they had). They flounced past Mammon and Slaugh, on an assassination high, and made their way to the front doors, revelling in the screams and the cries of terror as Lussuria set the banners on fire. Female Belphegor was waiting at the door, along with two others; a Mist with a blue trimmed uniform, and that friendly little Lightning they had sensed. Friends? Either way, they were coming with them now.

.

“Lussuria. Mammon. Fay.” Belphegor greeted, and Lussuria resisted the urge to squeeze the living daylights out of their Storm.

“Not here.” Mammon ordered, dropping the illusion and hopping up onto Slaugh’s shoulder. “We are still in danger.”

“ _Voi, I’m flying over the castle now, will land next to that weird field with the strange hoops.”_

“We have Officer Belphegor.” Lussuria affirmed. “Six for extraction.”

“ _Copy that, trash.”_

They followed Slaugh across the grounds, running as fast as they were able, spotting the VARIA jet landing on a long strip of grass. Lussuria pushed the others ahead, pulling out a gun and firing it at one of the men who ran out to stop them, red robes fluttering. He dropped, bullet in his forehead, and Lussuria was suddenly pulled onto the jet by Viola. The jet tilted at a steep angle, and the two green-heads tumbled into a seat as Squalo accelerated away, Lussuria grabbing onto the armrest to stop them from sliding down the aisle, ears popping as they ascended.

“ _Voi, cloaking shields at maximum. ETA VARIA HQ, 2 hours. Ah, wait, we have to drop off the others.”_

“ _Just give us some parachutes, we’ll be fine. You can’t slow down now_.” Dunbar ordered. “ _We will contact you in ten hours about the loot. Fay, take care_.”

“ _It’s Slaugh, da.”_

“Call me.” Viola shouted into Lussuria’s ear over the roar of the wind, before snagging a spare parachute and leaping out the open door, disappearing into the night, the others following her, Severus ruffling Slaugh’s hair as he went past, Mist flames wrapped around his legs and face. Dunbar gave them a nod, Eira waved cheerfully, and Lussuria heaved the door shut behind them. Pressure stabilized in the cabin, and someone, Lussuria was pretty sure it was Yosei, started laughing, mildly hysterical.

“Operation Loot the Dungeon successful.”

“Operation Storm successful.” Mammon answered, sounding out of breath. Lussuria looked up, catching Belphegor-ette’s gaze, and smiled, Sun Flames reaching out to caress the agitated Storm.

“Welcome back, Officer Belphegor.”

.

It was no surprise that Belphegor started crying.

.

Lussuria was as well.

.


	15. Oh Villain, Villain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> 'Oh villain, villain, smiling damned villain…' Hamlet, William Shakespeare
> 
> .
> 
> 'Fridr' – Danheim – Full Album

How?

.

How could it have gone so wrong?

.

He had everything planned perfectly; made sure the Snape boy was outside that night to overhear the forced prophecy, made sure that the boy had also taken the fall, and outright told the Order that the young Potion’s Master was a spy. He hadn’t anticipated Pettigrew telling the Death Eaters, hadn’t foreseen the horrific attacks that the boy had been subject to, watching both Light and Dark take away the thing that was most precious to any brewer; his sight. It was unfortunate to lose such talent, but it was necessary.

He had dropped hints, suggested a change in Secret Keepers for the Potters, and they had agreed, even allowing him to be the caster of the Fidelius, with Pettigrew as the secret Keeper instead of Sirius. He had expected Pettigrew to betray the Potters, and he had. Voldemort had killed James Potter, the Potter Lord now out of his way permanently, then proceeded to kill Lily Potter, who had violently opposed many of Dumbledore’s tactics, and was so blatantly _Muggleborn_ is hurt to listen to the woman. Full of ideals and ideas and disgust at the lack of women in powerful positions, pressuring James to help her change it, changing _minds_ and _people_ with her words. He had heard Marlene McKinnon tell Andric Avery that she was not going to be a housewife and a mother straight out of school, regardless of whatever marriage contract she was entered in, seen Narcissa Malfoy stop hiding her talents and outstrip her male peers in terms of magical power, going against the norm. All because of one, stupid, uppity _Muggleborn._

And then it happened.

Harry James Potter did _not_ survive the Dark Lord.

No, that wasn’t true. He survived the Killing Curse.

He didn’t survive the Slicing Hex from Pettigrew.

With the Potter’s dead, Voldemort dead, and Pettigrew in hiding after framing Sirius Black, the Wizarding World once more looked to him for guidance. So he gave it to them. He praised the Boy-Who-Lived, now living at a secure location, and pretended that Harry Potter was the Saviour. Like the fools that they were, the public lapped it up, and whispers and celebrations were rife. All the while, Dumbledore racked his brain for the next nine years trying to figure out a plan for when young ‘Harry’ was supposed to go to school.

.

Then, as if his prayers had been answered, he stumbled across a young boy, with magic so _potent_ is manifested itself as red flames _outside_ the boy’s body.

.

There were no guardians around, no sign of the boy’s parents; if anything, he looked like a street rat, with a fascination with the weird crown atop his head and knives. All it took was a simple stunning spell, and Dumbledore set his plan into motion.

Earlier, when all the students were required to have mandatory health checks as soon as they got to Hogwarts, to prevent an outbreak of disease, he had taken three vials of blood. One belonged to Sirius Black, in order to secure House Black under his control. The Second had contained the blood of Charlus Potter, whom had grown up to be one of the most powerful wizards in Britain. The last was something he had acquired by chance, something he had found, and then stolen from his old Master’s laboratory. Nicholas Flamel hadn’t even known it was missing. Blood from the last wizard to carry the Peverell name; Hadrius Peverell, an old friend of Flamel’s. Rephrase, Flamel’s _Master_. One of the greatest minds of Alchemy and Spellcrafting.

It was these vials of precious liquid, worth their weight in _diamonds_ , which enabled him to rectify his mistakes of nine years ago. Along with an obscure ritual he had found in the old Potter Grimoire, he bound the blood into the boy, thus making him a part of Houses Black, Potter and Peverell. Unfortunately, he misread one, small thing.

The ritual was designed to ensure the continuation of the House that the blood provided. If it had been one House, the boy he had taken ( _all for the greater good)_ would have remained as he had. However, the mix of three powerful bloodlines created something Dumbledore did not anticipate; a monster. Once the boy had awoken, he had screamed and raged, red fire, now amplified by ancient blood, burning through _everything_. The heat had been intense, and no amount of water spells had extinguished it. Dumbledore, with his years of experience, in a civil war and two World Wars, knew exactly what it was.

Crimson Aspect. And a powerful one.

What he had mistaken for magic was Flames of the Soul.

He heard the rumours, how could he not, with Mundungus Fletcher in his pocket. There were people looking for this boy. _Cassiopeia Black_ was looking for this boy. A young Aspect, Unbound by the feel of it, with striking eyes and power beyond his age. He couldn’t allow anyone to take him back, to return him from where he came; Dumbledore needed him for his plans.

So, he acquired a gender-change potion, courtesy of a dealer somewhere in the Netherlands (where it was legal), dosed the boy, and locked up his memories so tight it would have been impossible to retrieve them without irrevocably damaging the boy’s…girl’s psyche, replacing them with how he expected the girl’s childhood to be. A few charms for hair colour (how had the girl remained a blonde?) and eye colour (those eyes had to be magical; only his strongest charm could stick), and then he passed the girl off to Lily’s older sister, Primula or some other flowery name.

A blanket spell, tied to the words of ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ (Voldemort’s taboo on his name was a good idea) subtly changed the public’s mind to ‘Girl-Who-Lived’, and slowly, it was as though ‘Harry James Potter’ never existed, and ‘Belladonna Vulpecula Potter’ was always the Champion of the Light. It should have been sorted, nothing should have happened.

.

He didn’t account for the child being _wilfully disobedient._

Running away and ending up in London, mingling with vagabonds and teens with impossible hair colours and too much leather that reminded him too much of Sirius Black, spending _weeks_ away from school to run across rooftops like a lunatic and go on motorcycle rides with strangers that were far older than her but didn’t seem to mind the strange child they had picked up.

And the _rats._

The girl would not stop _killing things_.

He had no idea where she kept getting these blasted _knives_. Not just kitchen knives, no, but hunting knives, filleting knives, daggers, small leaf shaped and needle-like knives…any kind of knife, the girl could use. And the worst part? She could use them _well_. Combined with wires and that brilliant mind that would land her in Ravenclaw for sure (but he needed her in Gryffindor), it was lethal. She was far ahead of her peers at school, and would often go the library to study independently, and an independent tool was not something he needed. So he modified her memory.

Several times.

She escaped to London and lived there for a few months. He erased that time, implanted memories of school borrowed from another child. She went on a motorbike trip with a _gang_. Memories of being in the cupboard where she slept for a few weeks after breaking her arm. Living with a single man next to a tattoo parlour. Implants of being left behind while everyone went on a school trip. It seemed than whenever he turned around to deal with whatever the Wizarding World had issues with at the time, the girl would just up and _vanish_ , and despite the tracking charms on every piece of clothing and any belongings she might have had, she always managed to evade him for _weeks_. It was driving him _mad_. And he knew that if he wasn’t paying the Dursely’s handsomely for putting the girl up (out of the Potter’s Vaults, no less), they would have dumped her at the nearest orphanage and washed their hands of her the moment she set foot inside their house.

It was a strenuous two years, for certain, until finally, _finally,_ the day came for Belladonna Vulpecula Potter to enter Hogwarts. He had sent Hagrid to introduce her, ensuring that her introduction would lack information, and that hopefully, her fiercely independent attitude (which he never managed to get rid of) would stop her from reaching out to ask questions of those she deemed ‘lesser’, because the royalty/peasant thing was highly irritating. It appeared to be a deeply ingrained habit, since every time he tried to erase that particular set of memories, she _just kept doing it._ It was during this particular outing that, instead of meeting up with the Weasley’s, as he had planned, the girl had the gall to _like_ the Goblins, and spend _hours_ chatting to her account manager, one bloodthirsty little beast to another, and _locked down her accounts._ The Dursley fund had ceased immediately, and he himself was barred from making any transactions. The only people who could take money from her accounts was now Ms Potter, and he _loathed_ her for it. Hagrid, long since having abandoned Ms Potter for a hard drink at the Leaky Cauldron, completely forgot about his task, and so, it was after lunch time when Ms Potter finally emerged from the account manager’s office, only to run into the _last_ person he wanted his tool in contact with, ranked after even Sirius Black (who knew that his godson was dead, therefore any person using the Potter name that wasn’t a Muggle was lying) and Remus Lupin (because the ungrateful mutt knew scents).

.

Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black.

.

Narcissa Malfoy was dangerous for many reasons. After a long and successful career on the duelling circuit, she had decided to settle down and become a housewife, marrying Lucius Malfoy and bearing only one child, Draco. Dumbledore would have been a fool to think that she had gone soft, however. She had been a frontline fighter for the Knights of Walpurgis, and later the Death Eaters, despite the lack of evidence to convict her, and was well versed in Magical Law and, if rumour was to be believed, Ancient Rituals.

And, upon spotting Belladonna Potter, had recognised her as kin, and immediately taken her under her wing. No matter how many times Dumbledore had tried to make Potter forget her ‘aunt’, she always found her again, and Dumbledore wasn’t foolish enough to try and mess around with a Black’s mind. Bad things tend to happen to those that did.

The wand she was supposed to get from Ollivander’s still sat in its box, the chit having gotten one from a Black Vault. The Owl that had been breed specially to give all mail to him was replaced with a sour-tempered thing that cooed over the girl as if she were a chick. The trunk that was blood-locked to himself so that he could easily confiscate items still sat in the shop. Dumbledore was at his wits end.

And then she went and befriended _Heir Nott._ The son and grandson of known Death Eaters, bound for Slytherin no matter what went on in his mind, and destined to follow in his family’s footsteps. Fay Dunbar was unexpected, and Dumbledore found himself wary of the girl. Princes were notoriously hard to control of manipulate, having been raised since childhood to avoid the sort of thing. But, the stupid girl obviously hadn’t expected such deception from her Headmaster, because altering her memories after getting her to spill every detail she could about Potter had been so easy. So very, very easy.

However, Albus hadn’t expected Potter to set _people_ on fire. It showed a lack of patience that was very worrying, and within weeks, the girl was isolated from her peers because of this, bar Dunbar and Nott. The youngest Weasley boy was most put out, having expected to be best friends with the Girl-Who-Lived, but Dumbledore couldn’t help that now. The addition of the strange Lovegood child (and Lovegoods had always given him a bit of a headache) to Potter’s group during second year had been a surprise, but when Dunbar had managed to escape, he was quite livid.

Nott had some sort of strange barrier that protected his mind, made it hard to get a read on him, or even hard to notice the boy, which was why he was firmly in the middle rankings of the year. Lovegood’s mind would drive him insane; they were always a strange bunch, and Dumbledore was quite happy with his mind intact; some sort of latent Fae blood made them nigh untouchable in the mental department. The disappearance of Dunbar lost him his spy in the ranks, and no one could get close enough to the prickly girl surrounded by her body guards. Instead, he had to rely on second-hand information from her classmates and peers, further solidifying how set apart the brat was from her own agemates. She’d already begun to petition the Ministry to sit her OWLS by the end of her third year, the application going in soon after the escape of Dunbar, but he had managed to intercept it and destroy it without anyone being any wiser. Oh, Minerva was suspicious, and so was the nosey duo of Babbling and Sinistra, but he was too clever to be caught by those of lower power than he was.

.

Fourth year was the year all his plans were about to come into fruition. The Tri-Wizard Tournament, and subsequent entry of the teen, had all been his doing. And it had all come together beautifully. The brat was even more ostracized as the year progressed and the students turned on her for stealing the ‘glory’ of those useless Hufflepuffs. He hadn’t anticipated the Champions banding together in solidarity in order to complete the tasks. Which brought him to his next problem.

The amount of _power_ displayed against the dragon had been unprecedented. He had known that the boy he had kidnapped (and then changed into a girl) had been strong, but the _flaming wings and the fire…_

It had been impressive, to say the least, and he felt vaguely threatened for a moment, before reality crashed back down on him, and he activated the shields around the arena to stop everyone from burning to a crisp. How the little brat had survived dragon fire, he had no idea, and it _vexed_ him something great that the answers lay out of his reach. He knew what his own Flames were vaguely capable of; charming and swaying others to his side, but the red that the brat possessed….it was a whole new level entirely, and in all of the many books he possessed and stole and borrowed, nothing was mentioned about them.

He had thought, at the Yule Ball, that his plans and plots and schemes had finally come to fruition. Her date, although not the Weasley boy like he had planned, or any of the Weasley boy’s at the school, nor any of the Light families, was suitable, although he was wary. If the Prince’s swooped in and ruined everything, he would make them pay.

Then she had kissed the Nott boy underwater, with cameras catching the action, and everything had gone downhill from there. He had discovered several students that had applied to other schools, Potter applying for _three_ , although Beauxbatons was implementing a new system, which meant that it was quite full. Durmstrang _should_ have been impossible, she should have had her application rejected by Karkaroff, except that damnable Professor Liert - who looked so much like Gellert it was _painful_ – had approved it. He didn’t know if she’d heard back from that weird Japanese school who started at _six_ (which wasn’t sensible at all, their cores were too unstable), and it was pure luck that she didn’t find out that the United Oceania Magic Association* (UOMA were a constant thorn in his side at the ICW) had correspondence courses available, or about any of the thousands of trade schools she could attend to pass her OWLS and NEWTS. However, the influx of student’s wanting to leave left him in a bit of a quandary, since two were Heir Longbottom (whose family had attended for over eight generations) and Heiress Bones (who was a _Founding Family_ , one of the first students in Hogwarts). He would be glad to see the back of the Death Eater spawn, Malfoy and Nott especially. Zabini as well; he knew that the Zabini’s had some form of creature in them, most likely Succubus or Siren or something equally monstrous, and he hadn’t wanted to admit the boy in the first place.

The Third Task was when he finally knew that his plans, his beautifully crafted, carefully constructed plans, had well and truly been snapped. Potter had disappeared after touching the Portkey, and he had hoped that she had assisted in the rise of Voldemort (he had planted the ritual book with Pettigrew), when the Death Eater disguised as Moody had dropped, screaming and clawing at his arm, foaming at the mouth, until he stopped moving.

.

There was still no sign of Potter.

.

The Portkey returned.

.

She didn’t.

.

It had been dawn when the Aurors had found the girl, and for a second, he’d thought that the Goblet had taken her magic as punishment. But no, there was still a flicker left, and that was all he needed to know. He had tried to speak to her as soon as the Auror Retrieval team returned, but the newly minted Auror Tonks refused to let him come near, citing Family Business. Bones, ever a stickler for privacy when it came to pureblood matters, _threatened_ him with arrest if he came near the girl. She slept for days, and it was during this time that Dumbledore notified the Minister (he would have done a better job, but Fudge had his uses, the bumbling fool) that the Dark Lord had returned, and that Ms Potter had told him this herself. He had expected that Fudge, comfortable in the decade of peace that had followed his election, deny this and brand the girl a liar, which was even better than he’d hoped. The newspaper articles that followed exceeded his expectations, and with the girl unconscious and unable to defend herself, her reputation was slowly being ripped to shreds. He had summoned her to his office once she had awoken, and she had told him that the Dark Lord was defeated, and…refused to be a part of his schemes.

As if she had a choice in the matter.

And, like he had done so many times before, he erased her memories, and implanted his own, making sure that her story would match the one he had told the Minister. It should have been the end of it. It should have solved everything. His plans were initially ruined, but now they were back on track, and since the girl’s magic levels were so low, it would be easier to manipulate her into doing his bidding. Perhaps now was a good time to start those love potions for the Weasley boy, while her magic was still recovering. Everything was finally coming together.

.

Dunbar returned to Hogwarts.

With friends. Assassins. Powerful Aspects. Defiant.

Minerva belonged to a coven. Dunbar was a Violet Aspect, Trained by that worthless, blinded Snape brat. Officer Lussuria and Officer Mammon were more powerful than he. Mammon batted aside a high-level stunner as if it were _nothing._ Even Dunbar _reeked_ of power, and he wanted to know how to get it. Only, they weren’t interested in an alliance. They were more interested in finding ‘Officer Belphegor’, whomever it was, and were willing to use violence to do so. The young man who claimed that he wasn’t a boy (which was ridiculous, he clearly was), who wasn’t fooled by the mask he put on and a vicious punch when he had tried to sway them to his side, and Officer Mammon, who had mental shields that rivalled some of the _oldest_ purebloods and a tongue sharper than any blade.

So it stood to reason that, because nothing ever went his way anymore, that _Potter_ , now a girl, but once a boy he had kidnapped off the streets, turned out to be said Officer. That the Yellow Aspect threatened to kill the girl easily spooked him, and that they were able to manipulate their Aspects _outside_ their body, and that they recognised each other…

.

They escaped. An Auror who had chased them ended up dead, a strange hole in the middle of their forehead that wasn’t created by any spell, and a strange machine that accelerated too quickly for any broom to follow. But that was all unimportant, because the Yellow Aspect had _cursed_ him. Cursed him to a slow and painful death, and no matter what the Healers and Madame Pomfrey said or tried, nothing was stopping the slow erosion of his internal organs. It wasn’t until later that he found out that Nott and Lovegood had also escaped, although how they had left the Great Hall without anyone noticing was beyond him, and he cursed, because he had _known_ that they were Aspects, but he’d wanted to wait before he tried to sway them to his will, and by extension, control Potter. But it was too late.

.

Now, feeling his own weak Soul Aspect battle the young, bright Yellow one, destroying his own organs and burning his blood and causing every breath to feel like swallowing knives, he couldn’t help but wonder where the hell it had all gone wrong?


	16. Tears Perchance for Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘…tears perchance for blood…’ Hamlet, William Shakespeare  
> .  
> ‘Hurts Like Hell’, Fleurie  
> .  
> ‘Can You Feel My Heart’, Bring Me the Horizon  
> .

.

Xanxus had forgotten how much of an ugly crier Squalo was. His face turned blotchy and red, and his shoulders tended to jerk and shake, sharp inhales being the only noise, along with the occasional sniff. There was no sobbing, but Squalo did have the tendency to clutch something close to him when he cried. This time, it was Belphegor (who was now _female what the fuck)_ whom Squalo was crying and squeezing the life out of, an endless litany of apologies and begging for forgiveness falling from his lips in between sobs. Belphegor, who was also crying (and wasn’t that a shocker), couldn’t seem to speak, only nod and grip Squalo’s jacket tightly.

His Rain and his Storm had been at it for ten minutes already.

Yosei, after the VARIA jet had levelled out somewhat, had gone to relieve Squalo, muttering something about emotions in public and letting the Guardians reunite in private. Squalo, not wasting any time, had immediately scooped the crying Storm into his arms and started bawling. Lussuria was also crying, but Mammon had muttered that Lussuria had been inches away from going Supernova on the Headmaster’s ass, so he had let it slide. But…

He examined the sobbing Storm, taking in the obvious school uniform with flecks of blood on the sleeve, the knife strapped to his…her…their thigh, the now _dark_ hair, worn long and in curls with a fringe that still hid their eyes, the slender build, the pale complexion and the altered face. Well, what he could see of it. Mammon, sitting next to him, was engaged in a silent staring contest with the little blonde Mist whom had hijacked a ride, although he had no idea why. Next to the Mist, the Lightning who had accompanied him seemed to be trying to disappear. He was almost managing it too; Xanxus had to keep an eye on him. It was an interesting application of his Flames, and sadly, Xanxus knew exactly what kind of upbringing the kid must have had in order for them to manifest that way.

Lussuria sat down next to him, a bruise spreading across their cheek from where they must have slammed into the seats, and rested their head against his shoulder, staring at the Rain and the Storm.

“Not going to join in?” Xanxus asked lowly, quiet enough that the others couldn’t hear them.

“I’ll leave them for now.” Lussuria murmured. “Squalo took it harder than the rest of us.”

Xanxus gave his Sun a look that made his Guardian sit up and pay attention.

“Mammon said that you almost went Supernova in that castle, so I’m calling bullshit.”

“Boss…” Lussuria began, but Xanxus cut them off.

“When I was defrosted, I almost didn’t recognise you. No feather boas, no offensively bright hair, the _goddamn feathers_ , Lussuria. Not to mention your little rant at Sawada during the Ring Battles, the reaction over the Sun brat and the long list of inquiries I got from your Division asking ‘ _why is Officer Lussuria-nee-chan upset?’_ Don’t bottle it up, it leads to bad decisions.”

“Speaking from experience?” Lussuria teased, but Xanxus could tell that their heart wasn’t into it. The Sun sighed, and shuffled closer, pressing against Xanxus. “I’ll talk to you later, Xanxus. It’s…not something I want Belphegor or even Squalo overhearing.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Luss.” If anything, the use of his name and Lussuria’s nickname would ensure that the Sun would follow up on that promise; it ensured that the discussion would be private, and remain private. He’d have to ask Mammon to stop the Mists from eavesdropping, and most likely pay a fee, but it would be important. It would be _worth it_ , to hear about what was eating his Sun.

Squalo seemed to be calming down, which was great, because as much as he loved his Rain, seeing the normally prideful swordsman bawling his eyes out was not something he enjoyed seeing. He had let it slide when his Rain Officer had come into his own quarters, a couple of weeks after he was defrosted, and simply cried into his chest (Xanxus had ignored the own tears slipping down his face, because Squalo _knew him_ , and wouldn’t care), begging for apologies and forgiveness because he had tried to keep VARIA together, tried to keep the Guardians together, and he had _lost Belphegor and it was all his fault_. But now…

Squalo sniffed a couple of times, crying jag done, and rested his head against Belphegor’s…could the girl still be called that? _Would_ she still like to be called Belphegor? It was something he’d have to ask.

“Voi, shitty Prince.” Squalo managed to get out. “Don’t do that again.” Belphegor laughed, a little wet, and sat back a little.

“ _Ushishishi,_ sword peasant, the Prince will not make promises they cannot keep. But they will try their best.”

“Shitty prince.” Squalo mumbled, wiping his face with his flesh hand (and yeah, Xanxus had seen him try to do it with his prosthetic once. It had been hilarious, and there was a thin scar across his Rain’s nose because he hadn’t detached the sword) and releasing the Storm, rising a little unsteadily to his feet and dragging the Storm up with him.

“Shitty Prince, Boss…” Xanxus watched as Belphegor went dead pale, and a hand went up to cover her mouth. It was…oddly feminine. It was weird as fuck.

“Is he…?” Squalo grabbed his ( _her? Fucked if he knew now)_ shoulders, and turned them towards Xanxus, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Surprise!” Lussuria sang. “We defrosted him…almost a year ago now! Doesn’t he look handsome?”

“Voi, Lussuria, don’t be weird.”

“Boss.” Belphegor breathed, taking a step forward.

“Officer Belphegor.” Xanxus replied, hesitating for a moment, before continuing. “Storm Prince Trash.”

Xanxus then found himself with an armful of sobbing teenage girl ( _Belphegor is a girl holy fucking trashy shitty skies what the fuck is going on)_ and his arms wrapped around her automatically. The bond snapped back into place.

_His Storm mystormminemineminemine…_

“Belphegor.” He choked out, twisting his scarred hands into their hair. “Bel. _Mio Dios_ , what have they done to you? What have they done?” Bel sobbed harder, their grip almost painful on his shirt. They were so _small._ So _fragile._ He could barely feel their Flames; the roaring tempest that normally raged was a gaping hole, and for a second, Xanxus thought that Bel was dying, only to find the embers that remained, barely there, but still _there._ He swamped them with Sky Flames, wrapping her in a protective bubble, and Bel _hiccupped_ , burying their face in his chest, a damp patch forming over his heart.

“Hey, just breathe, princeling,’ Xanxus soothed, voice laced with Harmony, ‘ _breathe_. I’ve got you.”

“I was so scared.” Belphegor sobbed. “They made me _forget_. They made me _change_. They wanted me to be their little sacrificial lamb and _I didn’t want to but they didn’t listen.”_

“ _La mio tempesta_ ,’ Xanxus crooned into their ear, dragging the Storm closer, ‘ _la mio piccolo tempesta, zitto, ho te adesso, solo respiro._ ” Belphegor wept, shoulders shaking, occasional gut-wrenching sobs escaping, and Xanxus slowly slid down the seat and onto the floor, tugging the crying Storm onto their lap and pouring Sky Flames down the bond, resisting the urge to tell Yosei to turn the jet around because _those fuckers were still alive and he’d burn the whole fucking castle down for fucking hurting his Storm._ His Storm must have been under an unimaginable amount of stress. Hell, how had Belphegor _slept?_ From memory, Belphegor could never truly sleep unless he was in his quarters, Mammon’s Quarters or even his. How had the Storm _survived_? Where had they _been?_

A small hiccup, and then a few sniffles, and Belphegor relaxed the grip they had on his shirt, but only slightly. Xanxus couldn’t help but blush (because he was still a teen, fuck it, and Belphegor _was a girl and on his lap what the fuck did he do?)_ when the Storm shifted slightly, and sighed in satisfaction.

“So warm.” They mumbled drowsily, snuggling closer. He heard the click of a camera, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Belphegor was _alive._ Belphegor was _here._

And, surrounded by all of his Guardians, Xanxus could finally _breathe_.

Coherency gradually made itself known, now that he wasn’t basking in his Guardian bond with Belphegor, and he frowned. Belphegor was _female._ Technically, Belphegor was a boy, but now they were a girl, and that would make things awkward in the future, simply because the mafia was a sexist place, and the VARIA weren’t permitted to have females. Yosei, being solidly built and possessing an androgynous face, could pass as male at a glance (and that was all anyone ever paid to the Storm Admin), and Slaugh often wore a hood to conceal their obviously feminine face, but Belphegor…he’d think about it later. They were still _his Storm_ and he would _burn_ anyone who would try to separate them again. He leaned back against the seat, and carded his hands through their…curls. Long, black curls. 

_Does not compute._

“Your hair…” Xanxus tugged a curl, and Bel batted his hand away, as if they were a cat, before muttering something. The dark black seemed to bleed out of their hair, leaving the regular ash blonde of the original Belphegor. Right. Magic. _Weird_. He tugged at a different curl, watching it spring back into place.

“ _Sky peasant._ ” Bel hissed a warning, but it lacked its usual...fire. Bel looked so _weird_ with curls. The image of an eight-year-old Belphegor didn’t quite match up to this one. Sure, there was the build, and possibly the cheekbones, but… _curls._ It made the bloodthirsty little demon look almost angelic. All that was missing was…

“What happened to your crown?” Belphegor stiffened, and shook their head.

“I don’t know. I’m not going back to get it though.”

“Belphegor…” Xanxus began, knowing how attached the little brat had been to the thing, even slicing off the hands of those who tried to take it when they’d first arrived.

“Bel.” Belphegor corrected, and Xanxus paused.

“Huh?”

“My name is Bel.” Belphe…Bel replied. “I was Belphegor, then I was Belladonna, now I am Bel.”

“Belladonna?” Lussuria parroted, and Bel shrugged.

“Belladonna Vulpecula Potter. Heiress to the Ancient Houses of Potter, Black and Peverell through blood. So,’ Bel grinned at them sharply, ‘I am magical royalty thrice over, as well as mundane royalty. Bow before me, peasants.”

“Bel, shut up.” The Lightning told them. “Twice over, at most. Potter married into Peverell, and Black was a lineage of its own.”

“At least _I_ am not descended from one of the Knights Templar who had an affair with the local witch.”

“At least my family didn’t marry its _cousins_ to keep the bloodline pure.”

“Enough, both of you.” Slaugh interrupted. “House Prince is both older and far more superior than either of yours. End of discussion.”

“Slaugh.” The little Mist chided. “Play nice.” Squalo snorted.

“Voi, Slaugh? Play nice? That’ll be the day.”

“Shut it, Superbi.” Slaugh snapped, and Bel closed their eyes, leaning back into his chest.

“Trash, introductions.” Xanxus demanded, and Bel sighed, before gesturing towards the two teenagers that had stowed away.

“Xanxus di Varia, may I introduce to you Theodore Nott III of the Ancient House of Nott, and Luna Lovegood of the Ancient House of Prince. Heir Nott, Heiress Lovegood, my Sky and King, Xanxus di Varia.”

The Lightning actually _bowed_ to him.

“A pleasure, Xanxus di Varia. I thank you for allowing us to accompany your Officers as they absconded with Bella…Officer Belphegor.” Polite little trash. Odd, for a Lightning; he wasn’t like anything Xanxus was used to, with an interesting application of Lightning Flames and, it appeared, a personality. The Mistling gave him a cheerful wave, indigo sparks glittering between her fingers.

“It’s nice to finally meet Bel’s Sky King! You seemed to have chased off the wrackspurt infection that had been hovering around them since they arrived at Hogwarts.”

_What?_

“King?” Mammon leaned forward, and Xanxus could practically _taste_ their curiosity. The Mistling nodded. Xanxus resolved to pair the Mistling up with either Mammon or the weird cheerful Mist that had a weird fascination for ‘ _Alice in Wonderland’_. The results would be terrifying either way.

“You can have Amber Aspects, but if they don’t have any Knights, then they cannot be a King. Your King almost has a full banner; that’s very rare in our society. Most Amber’s don’t bond, since Soul Magic is illegal and deemed Dark Magic.”

And the issue of magic came up again. Xanxus was getting thoroughly sick of it. Bel relaxed against his chest, and yawned.

“Silence, peasants. The Prince wishes to sleep.” Xanxus felt himself yawning, Squalo dropping to the floor, slumping against him, Rain Flames dancing along the bond and dragging a wave of Tranquillity with it.

“Good-night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.” The Mistling soothed, sounding oddly hypnotic that Xanxus felt his own eyes closing. He heard Slaugh scold the Mistling for using that quote, felt Lussuria’s Sun Flames join the mix, scanning over Bel with single-minded intent, only for Bel to tug on the Sun’s leg in a clear demand to join them, and Mammon hopped onto Squalo’s shoulder adding Mist Flames, and Slaugh tentatively poked their own Cloud towards them, and then the Mistling spoke again.

_“Sleep.”_

.

.

.

Yosei’s jaw cracked as she yawned, flicking a quick text to Sorin to let him know that they were on their way back to HQ, and that the mission had been a success. The reply came quickly; a grinning face and a thumbs up, and an inquiry to know if they were still available for the mixed volleyball tournament next week (the SIC were putting together a team, and Yosei was ready to crush her subordinates). Yosei cracked a smile, and left the cockpit to grab her stuff, ready to disembark, and possibly grab the Lightning before Levi caught wind of him. She didn’t know if they were coming back to the VARIA with them or not, but either way, the kid was a threat in Levi’s mind. He’d be safe in Storm for a while, until he was up to Quality, and Yosei once again cursed the fact that Levi had gotten rid of Raijin. The Japanese assassin had been a good friend, solid Admin material, and would have been invaluable in helping them get rid of Levi, but alas, the dickless wonder had managed to make the guy disappear. Completely; the search squad were still trying to track him or his body down.

Speaking of, the little Lightning was slumped up in one of the seats, staring out the window. Beside him, the blonde Mist and Slaugh were curled together, Slaugh’s arms wrapped protectively around the blonde, close enough to the Lightning that they could reach out and touch him if they wanted. The others….

.

Oh, sweet Lord have mercy.

.

Yosei could’ve sworn she felt her nose bleeding for a second, before she dismissed it in favour of pulling out her cellphone and taking a picture. It was - and she never thought she’d be able to use this word for her Boss- _cute._

Xanxus was sprawled on his back, Belphegor…Belladonna…Bel, clutching his shirt in an iron grip, head resting on the Sky’s left shoulder. Squalo had managed to get an arm around the Sky’s waist as well, lying on his stomach with his head on his Sky’s torso, Mammon curled up on the Rain’s back. Lussuria was serving as Xanxus’ pillow, although Yosei was pretty sure she could see Squalo holding on to the Sun’s calf, and the Sun holding hands with the Storm. It was adorable.

Sorin thought so too, judging by the flood of heart emoji’s he’d sent back as soon as she’d sent the picture to him.

“They’ve been like this for just over an hour.” A quiet voice stated, from _right next to her holy shit._ Yosei dropped her phone and drew a knife, stabbing at head height. For an adult. The knife passed over the head of the boy now staring at her, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Don’t _do that._ ” She scolded, sheathing the knife. “If you weren’t so small, I would have killed you.” The kid merely raised an eyebrow, and Yosei resigned herself to dealing with the blank little shit, because there was no doubt that she’d be his Mentor until he was up to Quality, having a secondary Lightning that she used only in extreme circumstances. If only because Levi the moron would probably see her as a threat and then try to kill her. Like the other Electric Storm that had joined two years after the Boss had been frozen, and then was killed three months later while on a mission with Levi.

“Fay’s not really a touchy-feely person, but she and Luna are second cousins, and Luna was distressed after Fay escaped Hogwarts.”

“Slaugh.” Yosei corrected, not unkindly. “It’ll be easier if you get used to calling her Slaugh. Original names are a closely guarded secret, or common knowledge. Officer Superbi was Alliance before he was VARIA, Boss doesn’t even know his real name, only his nickname that his mother gave him, so he uses that. I don’t know about Slaugh, but the fact that she is an Officer, and has outside family, immediately deters the usage of her given name.”

“I see.” The brunet nodded, frowning. “Fa…Slaugh’s family are, from what I’ve seen and heard, more similar to the VARIA than any other mafia or cartel or whatever; they definitely won’t go down without a fight. But, there are also children that cannot defend themselves, family who are easily hurt, so it is easier to have an alias than try to protect everyone.”

“Bingo.” Yosei gave him a tired smile. “You’re sharp, little Lightning. No wonder Belphegor likes you.”

“She…they did often comment that I was one of the few in the castle with tolerable intelligence.” He replied, and Yosei outright grinned.

“A high endorsement from my Officer. I am Yosei, Second in Command for Storm Division.”

“Theo Nott.” The brunet supplied, interestingly enough not offering a hand to shake. Smart kid; assassins were more likely to take a hand of than shake it, and some, like Ialu in Sun, liked to Activate deadly diseases through touch. ‘Theo’ was most likely short for ‘Theodore’, but the last name had a distinct Old English feel, so most likely an old family, similar to Slaugh’s.

“May I ask a question, Commander Yosei?” Yosei hid a smile.

“Just Yosei, brat. If anyone is the Commander it’s Boss. Shoot.”

“What are all these weather terms you’re using?” The poor kid looked confused. “Lightning, Storm, Sky, Rain…” He trailed off, and Yosei resisted the urge to facepalm. The damn kids were civvies, of _course_ they wouldn’t know what Flames were.

“Do you know what Flames are, kid?” Please, _please_ say yes. Theo tilted his head, and held up his hand.

“These?” Dark green Lightning Flames arced over his hand and travelled up his arm, playfully twining around his torso like a cat would. Yosei stared.

“Yes?” She managed to get out, voice a little squeaky. _That_ was entirely unexpected. Manifestation outside the body required immense mental control, and it wasn’t often seen in Lightings, who preferred Hardening their skin to make them nigh invincible. “Those are what we call Lightning Flames. Their Aspect is Hardening.”

“We call them Soul Aspects.” Theo offered quietly. “Green is often associated with people who have witnessed death or are killers. It also represents cunning and ambition, wariness, caution and pragmatism. Sometimes stubbornness.”

And yeah, that explained a lot about Levi (whom Yosei was pretty sure had ‘hardened his head’ years ago), but…

“Soul Aspects?”

“It is…,’ the kid hesitated, biting his lip, ‘there is a belief in our culture that the Soul Aspect is a manifestation of your innermost personality. Slaugh is what we call a Violet Aspect. Loyal, territorial, mysterious, strong, and more often than not violent. Fa…Slaugh was kidnapped as a kid, and she told us that the purple fire saved her.”

“Huh.” Really, that was the only way to answer that tidbit of information. “How old was Slaugh? Did she say?”

“Eight. I was seven. Luna was four.” Yosei blinked, rearranged her whole perspective of Slaugh and Theo and the adorable little blonde, and nodded.

“Right. You’ll be shadowing me for the duration of your stay, until you either join the mook pool, get Named, or, miraculously, become Lightning Officer. Or die, but we’ll try our best not to let that happen.” Sweet hellfire, these kids were _Active._ Clearly had been for a long time, and if Slaugh and Theo’s control was this fine, she’d hate to see what they’d be capable of in, say, five years or so.

.

Who was she kidding, she’d _love_ to see Theo decimate Levi.

Beside them, Slaugh stirred, and yawned, the blonde Mistling stirring and mumbling something that _wasn’t_ English to her…cousin? That reminded her, how much work did they have to do to get these kids up to Quality?

“Theo, how many languages do you speak?”

“Five. Latin, French, Old Norse, Ancient Greek and English. My German is passable, but I’m not fluent. I can also read Middle English and Sanskrit, but the pronunciation is a bit beyond me.” Yosei stared. _Four_ dead languages? Slaugh also spoke Ancient Greek, Latin and Old Norse, but…Middle English? _No one_ , not even the crazies in Mist touched Middle English. Maybe it was a Lightning thing, although not many Lightning’s met the criteria for languages, due to Levi dumbing them down.

“And your Mist friend?” Theo looked uncomfortable, now, and bit his lip. A nervous tell; she’d have to get rid of it somehow.

“Well…she can speak other languages, but they’re not exactly…human.”

“What.” Yosei stared, unsure if he was playing a joke on her.

“Mermish, Gobbledegook, High Centaurian, High Fae and Latin.” The blonde supplied, cracking her neck, now awake. “Not much use for them now, since we’ll be going into organized crime, but that can’t be helped. Maybe I’ll pick up some Arabic or Basque.”

“Italian will be crucial.” Slaugh commented, disentangling herself and stretching like a cat. “Japanese, Sicilian, and you should probably start learning Ancient Greek, like you should have done _years_ ago.”

“Ancient Greek is boring, Slaugh.” The blonde whined. “High Fae was much more interesting.”

“It is a staple language for spellcrafting and it’s a miracle you haven’t had an accident casting yet.” Slaugh retorted. Ah, yes, that’s right, magic existed. Yosei had forgotten about that. A whole world, a whole culture, filled with different languages and scattered all around the world. It was hard to wrap her head around. And yeah, she could definitely tell that Slaugh and the little Mist were related; Thing One and Thing Two in Mist were siblings and they argued _exactly_ like that.

“ _Trash, stop talking and let me sleep._ ”

“We’ve landed, Boss.” Yosei informed the grumpy Sky. “Triton from Rain has also sent a message that Don Vongola wishes to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

“So, never.” Lussuria quipped, sitting up and dislodging Boss from his pillow. “Bel, honey, we need to get you a uniform. There might be spares in the cupboards by the cockpit. The little Lightning and Misty too. As much as I would like you to surprise everyone, the school uniform is a bit…”

“Obvious?” The little Mist supplied, and Lussuria nodded, dragging Bel towards the cockpit and collaring the Mistling as they went past. Squalo grumbled something and detached himself from his Sky, Mammon floating upwards and settling down on a chair, yawning.

“We’ll have to tie your hair back, darling, else it might get in the way. And you, little Mistling, we may have to alter a uniform for you so that it fits…” The three disappeared, and Yosei was suddenly very glad that Lussuria hadn’t roped them into their schemes. It was bad enough that their Officer was now _female and it didn’t compute and how the hell was she going to tell the rest of the Division_. Oh gods, Ekaitz the Asshole was gonna _flip._ He barely tolerated Yosei as Second and Interim Officer, how was the fuckboy going to cope with _Belladonna_ instead of _Belphegor?_ Too bad he was actually Quality; she would have shot him a long time ago if he wasn’t. Maybe Bel would solve the problem and kill him for mouthing off. Fingers crossed. Hopefully Molan would back them up, being Belphegor’s personal assistant since the Officer joined. Molan had also taught Belphegor to speak four different languages, and showed the Prince the ropes after he’d killed the last Officer, so there was one potential ally. Volkan, Yosei’s Second, would most likely support Belphegor as well.

 _Shit._ This was not what she’d signed up for. People thought that Lightning Division was the worst because of leadership issues and mental instability, but Storm had _politics._ Made worse by the fact that for three years, it was run by an honest-to-God _Prince_ who insisted on a hierarchy within ranks to keep them all in line. Storm Division was a shit-storm on a good day, and Yosei was not looking forward to dealing with the ensuing mess. She’d been leading these crazies for five years- she should be able to handle it.

.

.

Theo tugged at his jacket, the leather unlike any sort of material he’d ever worn before. It was soft, and well worn, but it was just slightly too big for him, despite the rapid growth spurt that had hit him during the winter and spring months. It was clearly meant for someone with wider shoulders than him (he was too slender, and he knew it, curses), and longer arms, or arms that contained more muscle than what was gained from lifting full cauldrons and doing crazy acrobatics with Bel and Luna in that weird room on the seventh floor; the ones that Fay had showed them, so that she had someone to practice with. It had a red hurricane symbol on the left shoulder, along with some blood along the cuffs and neckline ( _Storm Division,_ Yosei had explained, _under mine and Belphegor’s protection. The current Lightning Officer is a dick)_. Luna, next to him, was practically swamped in the spare uniform, no matter how many times they had tried to resize it. Well, he had tried; Bel was still on magic restrictions, and Fay…Slaugh had snapped her original wand, and the new one was temperamental. Apparently, what the VARIA called Flame-resistant was also quite magic-resistant, which was simultaneously fascinating and frustrating. It was something he was going to interrogate the Sun Officer about, considering that the Officer in question had given them a quick breakdown, but it was clear that they knew _details._

On his other side, Slaugh was spinning a small hand-axe around their fingers. Theo felt a little better that he was now taller than her, by a whole two centimetres; Slaugh had often teased him about being short, which wasn’t _fair_ , because her entire extended family were well above average height and her father was two feet shorter than the Groundskeeper, and her cousins had been _adult-sized_ by the time they were fourteen. It had been weird, finding out that Slaugh was _an Officer_ , and in charge of many, many underlings ( _I call them minions if they misbehave,_ Slaugh smirked, _and occasionally have to maim them for being Stupid, but they’re_ mine), and Officer Superbi had told him that since Slaugh had started, Cloud Division was much less of a problem for him than it had been before. Apparently, Slaugh had killed the previous Officer after he called her a slut. Theo approved. Luna had laughed, and Bel had smirked.

Now, they were all walking up the steps that led into the VARIA mansion, which reminded him of Nott Manor, and not in a good way, but it was different at the same time. For starters, he’d never had _anyone_ over the Nott Manor during summers or when he was a kid, secondly his new ‘Boss’ was walking in front, flanked by the Sun and Rain Officer. Bel was just in front of Theo, the small Mist Officer hitching a ride on Bel’s shoulder, and Yosei was bringing up the rear. From his own position in the group, he could pick out various people (assassins?) staring out the windows, some disappearing immediately afterwards, and he could detect a faint shimmer over the whole building. Some kind of mirage, maybe even extensive warding? He didn’t know who he’d ask about that, but they were good; most wards were layered over time. This one looked only a few years old, and was clearly quite strong. Theo’s fingers itched for his wand, so that he could dissect the…bad. _Bad Theo_. No dismantling other people’s wards, no matter how fascinating they were.

They entered via the massive double doors (it reminded him of the Great Hall, the magnificent doors that he would never study the runes on again), Boss slamming both doors open with a crash, and Theo winced at the loud noise.

“TRASH!!! ASSEMBLE!!!”

“VOI, WE’RE NOT THE FUCKING AVENGERS BOSS!!!” Superbi shouted back, and beside him, Slaugh sighed, and patted his shoulder.

“You’ll get used to it. Believe it or not, that’s Officer Superbi’s default volume.”

“Clearly I’ll need to invest in earplugs and Silencing Wards, then.” Theo muttered. Luna giggled.

“But the shark is so pretty!” Slaugh immediately slapped a hand over her cousin’s mouth.

“For fucks sake, Luna, don’t say it when he’s in earshot!” She hissed, casting a nervous glance to where Superbi was arguing with Boss. “Men have been stabbed for _less_.” Luna mumbled something that caused Slaugh to scowl, and it only deepened when there was a loud declaration of “ _BOSS!”_

Theo watched as a large, beefy man with…interesting sideburns and a weird moustache advanced on Boss, and hovered close inside his personal space. Boss looked uncomfortable, but he hid it well, merely scowling at the intruder.

“What do you want?” Boss snapped, his shoulders hunching a little.

“Boss! I’m so glad that you have returned, the mansion hasn’t been the same. If there is _anything_ I can do to make you comfortable…”

“Reports, trash.” Boss took a discrete step away, but not far enough to avoid brushing against the weirdo who carried… _parasols._ Who the hell carried parasols around on their back? Everyone knew that a parasol was meant for _ladies_ to shade themselves from the sun, and this moron didn’t even have the decency to carry them properly! Somewhere, his etiquette teacher was rolling in his grave (good riddance, the man was a creep).

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, Boss!” The man clapped Boss on the shoulder, and Theo could see his fingers twitching towards the guns strapped to his side. “Just a few unruly assassins, but they were dealt with in a timely fashion, with appropriate punishments. Reports are all in my office however, perhaps you would like to come by after hours to discuss them?”

That was wrong. So very, very wrong. Boss looked to be only a year or two older than Theo himself, and this very ‘friendly’ assassin looked to be in his thirties. If anything, the older man was propositioning Boss, which was borderline paedophilia.

“Voi, Levi, don’t touch Boss.” Superbi snarled, and the man sneered at him.

“Shut it, Superbi. Boss doesn’t have a problem with me touching him.” No, Boss clearly _did_ have a problem with parasol man touching him, but was either too uncomfortable to reprimand the idiot, or didn’t want to look weak in front of his men. Theo wasn’t stupid; he’d seen the scars that ran up Boss’s arms, had heard Lussuria mention something about ‘defrosting’ which sounded painful, and noticed the slight tremble of fatigue that occasionally shook his body.

Parasol Man still had his hand on Boss’s shoulder.

“Peasant.” Bel spoke up, and Theo resisted the urge to cover his eyes. _Shit._ “Unhand my Sky, else I shall remove your hand.”

Parasol Man looked down at her, and frowned.

“Who the fuck are you, bitch, to tell me what to do? One of the Sun Okama’s little whores, I bet.”

“I am Officer Belphegor, lightning peasant. Unhand my Sky.” Bel was getting vexed, Theo could tell. Especially when Parasol laughed derisively, and turned his back on her, dismissing her entirely. And yeah, he could tell that the rest of the Officers were starting to get pissed, especially after the little dig at Officer Lussuria.

“This bitch is Belphegor? Boss, there is no way she can be. She’s a girl! Belphegor was _male_.” Parasol shifted closer to Boss. “I understand that it might be hard to move on from your loss of Belphegor, but…there are other Storms that are more powerful, that would be happy to serve you. You should give them a chance; one might even bond!”

“Trash.” Boss began, voice low and dark, and Theo couldn’t help but shiver. “Do _not_ tell me what to do.”

Levi leaned in, and Theo felt a sudden surge of hatred for the man in front of him. It was unexplainable, and completely irrational, but yet he still felt fire burn through his veins. It was the same fury he felt whenever he looked at his father, his uncle, the tutors his father would give him over the summer. Luna’s fingers brushed his, and he tried not to make his dislike so obvious.

“Boss, it’s obviously a ploy by the CEDEF, or even your father, to bring you to heel. Besides, everyone knows that the VARIA doesn’t have females, unless they’re whores.” That particular comment was directed at Slaugh and Yosei. Yosei stiffened, while Slaugh snarled and spun her hand axes, purple flames dancing over the handles.

“Officer Levi,’ Boss began coldly, shrugging off the arm and pushing Parasol away harshly, ‘you overstep your boundaries. This is Officer Belphegor, regardless of gender. If you can’t accept that fact, then maybe you should retire.” By the subtle emphasis on the last word, Theo managed to gather that ‘retire’ didn’t equal ‘pension’.

“She is a fake, Boss! She’s seduced you, tricked you into thinking that she is Belphegor!”

“Who is this fool?” Theo asked Slaugh. Slaugh grimaced.

“The Lightning Officer, Levi A Than. Competent, but useless, if you get what I mean.”

“Listen trash, I know the state of my own Guardian Bonds; if my Flames say that it’s Belphegor, then it’s Belphegor, understand?” His new Boss was shouting, and had a very interesting manifestation of flames; a lovely mix between red and orange. Also, quite the set of lungs. Theo was certain that they’d be able to hear him in Scotland.

“…nothing but a fucking slut!”

Theo moved.

He wasn’t quite sure how the Lightning Officer had missed him, considering that Theo had been standing right in front of him, but he wasn’t going to complain. Green coated his arm, and, now standing behind the giant, he aimed to punch him in the spine. If he was lucky, the appendix would erupt, and it would put the guy down for a while, long enough for Bel to act. Wait, could Bel kill this guy? They were technically an Officer, and Yosei had mentioned something about Officers killing Officers, but maybe Yosei or even his new Boss would deal with it, because he wasn’t sure….

.

His hand went straight through the man’s back and out the other side. Warm blood spattered across his face and dripped out his arm, and Theo couldn’t comprehend what just happened. There had been resistance, more so than usual skin when punched, but his _arm was still inside the man sweet Merlin._ He pulled it out, bits of...was that _intestine_ on his hand? He felt vaguely detached from the situation, which meant that he’d either had a psychotic break or was going into shock. There was, however, a tiny voice screaming in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away. The man dropped to his knees, gasping, and Theo was able to meet Bel’s eyes over the man’s shoulder. Bel didn’t twitch, didn’t give him any indication of what he should do next. Morgana, he’d just punched a _hole_ through a man. Him! The little weakling with skinny arms and too much leg, who was overlooked by his classmates and teachers _all the time_ , had just given a man a near-fatal injury for calling Bel a slut.

“What?” The man gurgled, a hand coming up to grab at his wound. “What have you done, you little fucking whore?” Theo frowned, and the man continued.

“I guess that you are more useful than being a pity fuck and spreading your legs for the fucking gay cunt…” His head hit the ground, lips still moving, and Theo stood above the torso, arm out to the side, still crackling with electricity and covered in blood.

“I don’t appreciate that sort of language around my friends.” Theo stated mildly, the screaming voices in his head getting louder before he shoved them away. He’d deal with them later. In private. Behind several Silencing Wards. There was a thick, tense silence following his statement, and Theo could feel all eyes on him. He squared his shoulders, and stared Boss dead in the eyes.

“I apologize for the mess and the murder of one of your subordinates.”

Luna giggled, and turned away, trying to muffle them.

“Voi, you killed Levi. Our Lighting Officer.” Superbi stated, face suspiciously blank.

“He was rude.” Theo frowned. “Are all your Officer’s allowed such liberties when they reflect badly on the VARIA on the whole, or was he just an exception?”

“Liberties?” Boss queried, looking distinctly amused.

“He was harassing you, Boss.” Theo stated flatly. “The clear lack of respect for your personal boundaries indicates this. The words he directed at Bel…Officer Belphegor, and the derogatory term he used for Officer Lussuria were verbal harassment. Is this normal VARIA standard?”

“Voi, no. Just a Lightning thing.” Officer Superbi stated, before his face twisted into a grimace. “Yourself excluded.”

“You do realize what happens now, do you not?” Boss seemed to be amused at something. Theo frowned, tilting his head in a questioning manner.

“I…get in trouble?” He replied, unsure. He saw Officer Lussuria and Yosei turn around to muffle giggles, and Bel bit her lip, obviously trying to hold theirs in. Boss walked up to him, slowly, and Theo fought the urge to cower, because his father used to do that when he was in trouble and about to beat him, and Boss was _bigger_ than his father; taller, more muscle, more presence, more _dangerous._

“VARIA Law dictates,’ Boss began once he was a meter away from Theo, ‘that whomever kills an Officer takes their place. The killer must have the same Flame type as the Officer they killed, else they get shot.”

Theo blinked. _What?_

“I killed the Lightning Officer.” He clarified, and Boss nodded, a smirk twitching at his lips.

“I am a Green Aspe…Lightning Flame type.” He continued. “Therefore I replace… _shit._ ”

“Congratulations, Lightning Officer. You have followed in the footsteps of your fellow Officer’s Belphegor, Mammon and Slaugh, and killed your predecessor.” Boss grinned at him with too much teeth. “Now, turn around and say hello to your subordinates.”

Slowly, Theo turned around, staring wide-eyed at the mass of assassins that stood silently along the balustrade, all staring at him. He drew on his Aspect to make himself Hard to See (oh sweet Merlin they were all _staring_ and he hated it), only to stop when Boss laid a hand on his shoulder.

“VARIA!” He thundered. “The Lightning Officer!”

“What will he be Named?” A figure draped around a support column drawled, Theo picking out two indigo bars on the speaker’s jacket shoulder.

“Víðarr.” A tall, bearded assassin strode down the stairs, an axe strapped to his back. “The Silent God. A Son of Odin, who avenged the Allfather’s death at Ragnarok by tearing Fenrir’s jaws apart. A God of Vengeance.”

“Vali.” Boss greeted, respect evident in his tone. Theo could understand why, and he was wary. Vali was older than most assassins that he could see, and one should always be wary of an old man in a profession when they die young. Vali stared at Theo, and Theo met his gaze squarely, noting the purple cloud on the man’s breast that matched the one on Slaugh’s jacket.

“Vali.” Theo began. “The half-brother of Víðarr, a Son of Odin, conceived to avenge Balder by killing his murderer, Hodr.” Vali smiled at him. Like a wolf.

“A smart Lightning. We don’t often see those.” Theo raised an eyebrow, but didn’t reply, not trusting himself to _not_ make a fool of himself. It was still rude.

“Do you accept the name given to you by Vali, Víðarr?” Theo though about his name, the one he shared with his father and grandfather, the last named that was Cursed every time it was spoken by others, the way people looked at him when they found out who he was. He thought of Slaugh, who had tossed aside her name to hide from her enemies, of Bel, who had been Belphegor, then Belladonna, but had been re-gifted the name because it _meant something_ to them. Of the sneers and jeers, the names, the curses and hexes that had followed him in school because of what his father had done, and what they thought he would do when he grew up.

.

“I accept.”

.

Boss nodded, and stepped to the side.

“VARIA! Operation Storm was successful; we…” Boss trailed off as Bel walked forward and tapped him on the arm, silencing him, before stopping it the middle of the foyer, facing the assassins.

.

“ _Ushishishi, peasants.”_ Bel laughed, fringe covering their eyes and knives glinting in their hands, tendrils of red writhing up and down their forearms and a manic smile twisting their lips, and Theo could _feel_ the fear skyrocket.

.

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“ _Did you miss me?”_

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	17. The Insolence of Office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> "…the insolence of office…" Hamlet, Wouldiwas Shookspeare
> 
> .
> 
> "Sadist", Lucas King
> 
> .

Bel was nervous, and it showed itself in the way they twirled a knife, ran their fingers through their hair and bit their lip occasionally.

“They’ll all be happy to see you again, Highness.” Yosei assured them. “Molan, especially. He blamed himself after your disappearance.”

“All the Officers did.” Bel murmured, making their way slowly towards the old eastern ballroom that they had converted into a training hall for Storm Division. After the initial terror-inducing return, Bel had demanded that Storm Division met in the ballroom. Attendance was compulsory, and anyone who was not present would be the first to taste their displeasure. Needless to say, Storm had reconvened in record time. Now, Bel was taking their time to get there, partly to build up fear and anticipation, partly to reunite with the storm-fairy peasant who had managed to keep their Storm’s under control. Mostly.

They reached the double doors, already hearing the chatter from the gathered Division, and Bel took a deep breath, before slamming them open. The ballroom, filled with roughly forty assassins, silenced instantly, and all eyes turned to them. Bel raised their chin, and stalked forward, gliding down the stairs with all the grace of royalty and coming to a halt in front of the crowd.

“Veterans. Line up.” Bel commanded. At least fifteen assassins stepped forward, and Bel hid a frown, knowing that there had been more than thirty assassins under their rule before they had been kidnapped. To be down to a mere fifteen...Bel didn’t want to know what happened to the others, but they suspected that Levi might have been ‘cleaning house’ in their division on the sly.

“Highness.” One of them greeted, and it took Bel an embarrassing amount of time to recognise one of the original Sigma Squad, and one that they’d Named themselves; Volkan. Older, with a scar across the bridge of his nose, but still that _awful_ haircut.

“ _Ushishishi, peasants.”_ Bel laughed. “ _Bow before the Prince of Hell.”_

As one, the veterans of Storm Division bowed, and Bel laughed again, spinning around in a circle, drunk on power.

“The Prince has been away far too long, Storm peasants. The Prince is not up to date with your skill sets. Therefore, there will be tests and meetings to determine where you now stand. The Prince also wishes to speak with the squad leaders and the seconds.” They declared, twirling a knife in their hand. “If there are any complaints, we don’t want to hear them.”

“Welcome back, your Highness.” That was their advisory peasant, Molan, whose voice sounded wobbly and strained. Molan took a half-step forward, twitching violently when he broke formation, and Bel sighed, noticing the aborted movements of some of the other veterans, and the clenching fists. They wouldn’t normally let them do this in public, however…

“I shall allow this display of sentimentality, just this once.” Bel announced, before they were dogpiled by sobbing Storms crying ‘Officer Belphegor’ and ‘Highness’.

“Stupid peasants.” Bel muttered, patting Pyry on the head as he sobbed into their hipbone. “The Prince would have returned to rule their kingdom eventually.”

“We thought you were _dead!”_ Volkan wailed into their ear, the Third in Command managing to have wrapped his arms around their shoulders.

“We looked and looked and looked and we couldn’t _find_ _you._ ” Molan wept. “We _failed_ you, Highness.” Bel looked helplessly towards Yosei, who waved ( _traitorous peasant)_ and went back to…was the storm-fairy peasant taking _pictures?_ Bel sighed, and dropped a kiss on Molan’s head absently, threading their fingers through Amihan’s hair and allowing Bora to hug their legs. Ruarc sniffed into their shoulder, and Bel took a deep breath, trying not to cry themselves. Oh, they had missed their silly storm peasants, who were just as bloodthirsty as they were, and were all a little bit broken. Ruarc, Amihan and Pyry they had trained themselves, and they were the three who often accompanied Bel on missions when it was required. Molan had been the best advisor when Bel had first taken over Storm.

“Silly peasants.” They murmured fondly, Molan gaping up at them for a moment, before they went back to squeezing their waist tightly.

“Highness?” A small, young Storm queried, frowning, before turning to Yosei. “Officer Yosei, who is this?

“Not your Officer anymore.” Yosei replied. “That’s Officer Belphegor, whom I was standing in for. They’re your Officer now.”

“Oh.”

“I won’t stand for it!” Bel’s eyes jerked to the solidly built man who was scowling at them, another new Storm trying to get him to shut up. “I won’t stand for some upstart bitch replacing Belphegor! We can’t have a female leading us, we’ll be laughingstock!”

“I dare you to say that to Hodei in Cloud about his Officer.” Volkan let go immediately to challenge the speaker, kicking the others to do the same as the unknown Storm strode closer. “Unless you want to say it to Officer Slaugh yourself?”

“Cloud Division is weak. Ottabio was a much more competent leader.” The Storm dismissed.

“Ekaitz, stand down.” Yosei ordered, and Ekaitz sneered at her. Bel frowned at the blatant lack of respect.

“Not your Officer anymore.” He mocked, pitching his voice higher, and Yosei gritted her teeth.

“Peasant.” Belphegor addressed him, lifting their chin to stare down their nose at him. “You are disrespecting your superior. Stand down.”

“You can’t do anything, bitch.” Ekaitz scoffed. “Belphegor may have been the best Officer since Corentin in the time of Quarto, but you are not him.”

“Oh?” Bel smiled, and revelled in the spike of terror that came from the Storms they _did_ recognise. The Storms who were closest to them shivered, and took a couple of steps away from them. “Why is that, _peasant?_ ”

“Because you’re a _girl_.” Ekaitz jeered. “And little girls are far weaker than men, only good for spreading their legs and producing the next generation.”

And here, Bel paused. Belphegor would have let this slide. Belphegor would have dismissed the peasant as Stupid, and let Yosei or Audra duel him, because this peasant was not worth his time. _Belladonna_ wanted to see his blood spilt on the floor, wanted to see his face twist in horror as she eviscerated him, or broke every bone in his body starting with the toes, or even try out that skin-flaying spell she had found. Belladonna wanted him to _suffer_ , to _writhe in agony_ as she laughed and showed him just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean she’s weak. That she has suffered unimaginable pain, both body, mind and spirit, and this insignificant _worm_ knows nothing of her struggles.

.

“Is that so, peasant?” Bel’s voice was soft, oh so soft, like a delicate spider’s web ( _come into my parlour,_ said the spider to the fly), steel and venom wrapped up in blood red lips and ash blonde curls. “Then perhaps you would like to test that theory. Your metal and Flames against mine.”

“Highness…” Molan began, but Bel flicked a hand out to the side, and he fell silent.

“What of it, Ekaitz? Care to pit your ‘might’ against a girl?” Their voice was still soft, and it chilled the room. The stupid peasant obviously didn’t pick up on their killing intent, merely content to swagger forward as the others cleared the space around them. Bel cracked their neck, and flexed their fingers, her knives glinting menacingly. A small tendril of Flames licked around the edges, and Bel knew, unfortunately, that they would have to be quick, and use as little Flames as possible. They were, still, technically on bed rest for the next two weeks, however…

.

Rabid dogs always need to be shot.

.

“Be careful, Highness.” Molan murmured, stepping out of range and joining the others in the circle surrounding them. Bel scoffed, calculating the angles and the lengths of wires that they would need. Hopefully, they’d have enough magic if they ran out of wire; it only took a very small amount to alter it. If not, they had plenty of knives that they could slip into the worms ribs when he was distracted.

Ekaitz stopped three metres away, and flared his flames, the sickly red…were they _pink?_ Bel laughed ( _ushishishi)_ , and slouched, muscles loose in preparation to move quickly. The rabid cur had just shown them how much power they had, and although they were relatively an unknown, clearly having been recruited after their forced imprisonment, Bel could see that they were far too comfortable, far too _arrogant_ in their abilities. They were good, no doubt.

.

Bel was better.

.

Yosei stood between them, a feather in her hand. Standard rules; when the feather drops, you fight. You start before, you die. You burn the feather, you die. Bel would have much rather just slaughtered the fool where he stood, but Belladonna wanted him to suffer, and Belphegor wanted to see blood on the floor.

“Rules?”

“To the death.” Bel answered instantly, hiding a smirk when Ekaitz paled slightly. Yosei nodded, took a deep breath, and dropped the feather. It floated down, lazy and soft, until it kissed the floor.

.

Bel dove to the left, dodging the blatant attack and throwing a several knives in different directions, one nicking Ekaitz on the cheek as it went past. Ekaitz snarled, and a whip of Flames lashed the ground next to them. Bel rolled away, planting two kunai, and then flipped out of the way of another lash. Two more knives speed across the room as they cartwheeled to avoid the whip, the wires all but invisible. Ekaitz advanced. A knife slammed into his shoulder, and he grunted, trying to pull it out only to scream when he discovered that it was barbed. Bel smirked. That one was also covered in a low-level hallucinogen that acted quickly, even more so when the blood was pumping. They’d have to thank Theo for that one later.

The flame whip latched around their ankle, and Bel stifled a screamed as it burned, gritting their teeth and lunging forward to slice Ekaitz on the arm. They ducked under a stab and let their wires trail behind them as they wove their trap, rolling to avoid another strike.

“Stop moving, bitch!” Ekaitz yelled, and Bel twisted the ends of the wires around the handles of two knives, kneeling on the ground as they stared up at Ekiatz. Two more knives with wires slammed into the floor, either side of his feet, and he sneered.

“You can’t even aim properly, you can’t even _hit_ me! You are weak!” Bel tilted their head.

“ _Naughty little fly, why does it cry…”_ They sang, and Ekaitz stepped forward. One step. Two. Bel yanked on the wires, and Ekaitz screamed as they bit into his skin, surrounding him from all sides as they hauled him above the ground, leaving him suspended a few feet off the floor, his feet higher than his head.

“ _Caught in the web…”_ Bel continued, gliding forward, stopping just in front of Ekaitz, and caressing his cheek. Tenderly, like a lover would. Bel leaned in closer, close enough to see that Ekaitz’ eyes were a dull shade of brown, and his skin was very smooth, and that there was a small scar on his top lip. He was panting, hyperventilating, his pupils dilated in fear.

“ _Soon you’ll be…”_ Bel leaned forward, and their lips brushed Ekaitz’ cheek. They were pleased to discover that his skin was as soft as it looked. Ekaitz let out a pitiful whimper, and the scent of ammonia and fear invaded their olfactory senses.

“… _dead._ ” Bel whispered in his ear, and they wrenched the knives away, causing the wires to tighten, and the one around his throat to garrotte him. His head thumped to the floor, bouncing a couple of times, his face frozen in an expression of terror. Bel cut the wires suspending the body, and it dropped to the ground with a thud. They sheathed their knives, coiled their wires and turned to face the others.

“Does anyone else wish to challenge the Prince?” There was a unanimous disagreement, and Bel bowed to them, deep and flourishing, before sauntering out of the room towards where their Sky would be.

.

.

They were still smiling.

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Theo, now Víðarr, was livid.

A meeting with the rest of the Officers had started off well; expectations, procedures, guidelines and that sort of stuff had been gone over, questioned, clarified and then agreed upon. Basic things, things that Víðarr was grateful to learn about, instead of being tossed into the snake pit and being told ‘ _sink or swim’_. He was feeling pretty good about this new direction; who would ever suspect that the Nott Heir would be head of a Division filled with assassins? Quality assassins. Well, so he presumed. He hadn’t actually _met_ any of his new subordinates, so he wasn’t actually sure on their abilities. There would be all least _one_ Quality assassin, right?

That had been before he was given the files on his Division. And frankly, it was a mess.

 _None of them were Quality._ Two-thirds of them couldn’t speak _three_ languages, let alone the required seven. Some were at risk of failing the physical exams, others had health problems to spare, one was even prone to hiding under beds during missions if it went south. The list of injuries passed off as ‘ _training accident’_ was enough to make him feel sick. It wasn’t training, none of it was. It was systematic abuse, pure and simple. Several had been marked down as Potential, and then the mark had been crossed out, a date and explanation written down beside. And the _recklessness_. The complete and utter disregard for their own _lives._ And that was just the first three mission reports for each assassin. He’d have to go to this ‘Archive’ and dig out the others, but that was something to do at a later date. And possibly when he was allowed to drink alcohol. He had a feeling that he’d need it.

He couldn’t claim that he was an expert on psychology issues, considering the only books Nott Manor had were on psychological torture, and not healing, and the few that he did manage to source were Muggle and severely biased against treatment of any kind, but… _fuck._ These assassins were _his_ , now, and he’d be damned before he turned his back on them. Silently, he cursed Slaugh for imparting her possessive tendencies on him. Come to think of it, Bel was very possessive as well.

“Voi, you’re quiet over there, Víðarr. Something wrong?” Superbi threw out from where he was engrossed in what appeared to be the damage report for the days that they had been away. Víðarr bit his lip, attempted to control his temper, and then gave it up as a lost cause. They were all equals here, right? Surely they wouldn’t mind if he aired his complaints? He could try to make it sound less accusatory, and…his eyes fell upon a line in the file for Perun, who had joined two years ago, been Admin Material, and then diagnosed with a severe anxiety disorder six months later. His injury list was extensive, and it was noted that a Rain was needed on his squad to calm him down on a mission. Another note stated that he was the ideal Lightning; self-sacrificing bordering on suicidal. He had never spoken to another person since a mission with his Officer. _Fuck being polite._

“Do they need an Officer or a nanny, Superbi?” Víðarr asked, scathing. “Because it’s starting to sound suspiciously like the latter. What kind of moron decides that one Aspect Type is going to be the sacrificial lamb for the next three centuries? That doesn’t take into account the differentiating personalities and skills of a person.”

“Voi, they are all trained like that. ‘The shield that attracts the lightning and protects the Family’ or some shit.”

Víðarr stilled, his mind running through what the Rain Officer had just said, and smiled politely. He noticed Slaugh stilled when she caught sight of it, and Bel paused in their signing of reports, still covered in blood from the ‘education’ of what sounded to be a very stupid subordinate. He hoped that his own weren’t as foolish.

“And who is currently enforcing this imbecilic opinion?” Superbi looked at him askance, before stating

“Don Nono Vongola. Why, voi?” Víðarr hummed.

“How do you think he would feel if the Lightning Division of the VARIA turned into competent assassins and had social skills?”

“Confused?” Lussuria hazarded a guess. “It’s…honey, Lightnings as a general rule are pretty anti-social. Most don’t like crowds, some can’t cope in social situations…”

“Because no one has ever showed them how to, correct?” Víðarr interrupted sharply, before sighing. “I’m not blaming you, it’s just that…”

“They’re yours now.” Slaugh finished, giving him a quick smile. “I understand.”

“You’ll have a lot of work cut out for yourself.” Xanxus rumbled from his seat at the head of the table. “Most Lightnings have been brought up like this, indoctrinated since birth, or a very young age. They won’t know any different.”

“I didn’t know any different.” Víðarr stated quietly. “I thought that the first generational magicals were scum, that they had stolen magic. I thought that women were inferior, that the only way to get anywhere in life was to sacrifice others, that my father was always right.”

“What changed?” Mammon asked, and Víðarr shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I met Bel on the train to Hell.”

“Voi, be that as it may, Levi fucked over Lightning good. How are you planning on getting through to them?” Víðarr shrugged.

“I figured that we’d sit down and have a chat over some tea.”

.

Slaugh choked on her coffee.

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Dumisa didn’t know what to make of his new Officer. The African assassin had managed to stay alive by keeping his head down, shutting up and doing his job. He’d been Raijin’s partner, and he regretted not joining the squad that had rescued Federico Vongola. If he had, maybe Raijin would still be alive. He’d known that Levi would kill Raijin eventually; that’s just how things went. If you were competent, you lived. If you started excelling, you died.

Raijin had been marked down for a promotion to Admin. Levi made him disappear.

Now, they had a new Officer. One Dumisa found very difficult to keep his eyes on. It wasn’t that the kid (because he could barely be legal) was ugly (he was plain, unassuming), but more the fact that something…persuaded him to pass him over. And that made him very dangerous in the assassin world. Deadly, as Officer Levi had proven. It had been as if the kid appeared from nowhere.

One minute, Levi was being his normal disgusting self. Next second, some unassuming brunet had his arm through the Officer’s chest, up to the elbow. Then, the kid had beheaded him. Had completely bypassed Officer Levi’s defensive skin that was impenetrable (others had tried, others had failed to get past it), not once, but _twice_. Dumisa was wary. He was afraid. Because what kind of _monster_ took down another that had plagued them for years? 

.

One that was offering tea to every assassin, and directing them to plush armchairs that had _not_ been in the Lightning Hall before this morning.

.

Lei, sitting next to him, was sipping contentedly on some chamomile, a pleased grin on his face and his eyes shut. Dumisa would have thought the tea drugged, if he didn’t know that it had come directly from VARIA Housekeeping, and that the Chinese demolitions expert checked his tea religiously for poisons. Dumisa swirled his own Rooibos, and stared into the tea leaves at the bottom, hoping to divine some meaning from them like his grandmother used to. Their new Officer was coaxing Perun to emerge from under a fainting couch, seemingly plying him with…were those _gingernuts?_

“Oi. Dumisa.” Dumisa turned his gaze to glare at Shant (one of the more irritating Lightnings in the Division), who slumped onto the neighbouring settee. “What do you think of our new Officer?”

“I haven’t decided.” Dumisa answered honestly. “I’m glad that Levi is dead, but…”

“Was he the lesser of two evils?” Shant finished, and Dumisa nodded. There was laughter, and Bronte sprawled across the divan, a handful of biscuits artfully arranged on fine bone china.

“I don’t care.” The only female Lightning left declared. “He brought chocolate mints and gingernuts. And he’s polite; asked after my pronouns, and looked at my face the entire time we spoke.”

“He could be luring us into a false sense of security.” Shant pressed. “Be all friendly, and then turn around and kill us all. Fuck, _Vali_ from _Cloud_ Named him, and he’s never given a name out before. And he’s one of the oldest serving assassins in the VARIA. He _likes_ his new Officer, and Officer Slaugh scares the shit out of normal people on a good day.”

Dumisa was about to reply, before a light chime sounded through the room, and everyone turned to face the direction it had come from. Dumisa hid a frown; it had been the right tone, the right pitch to keep them calm, to keep them from attacking. Just whom the fuck _was_ this kid?

Speaking of, the unassuming brunet stood in the centre, surrounded by assassins, and didn’t look the slightest bit uncomfortable about it.

“My name is Víðarr, the new Lightning Officer.” He began, voice soft. “I wish to formally apologize to the victims of my predecessor, Levi A Than, Lightning Officer of the VARIA, once named Tazio Grima. To both the living, and the dead. His actions against you were immoral and depraved, his leadership corrupt, and you, his subordinates, suffered for it. I wish to apologise for the deaths by his own hand, the systematic abuse passed off as training, and the curbing of your potential. For the unnecessary pain that has been caused by his dictatorial management, and the long lasting effects that it may have had on your psyche.”

.

Bronte froze, biscuit halfway to her mouth.

Lei dropped his teacup, the scent of chamomile filling the air.

Shant fell off his seat.

.

“Moving forward, I can only hope that in time, you can accept me as your new Officer. My methods will be differentiating from my predecessor’s, and at times, they may be completely against what you have been brought up with, or taught. It will not be easy, and you may come to hate me, but if that is the cost for bringing you up to Quality, than so mote it be.”

.

Dumisa couldn’t breathe. _A goddamn apology._ The first thing out of their new Officer’s mouth, addressed to the Lightning Division as a whole, was an _apology_. For something that he hadn’t done. This small, thin waif that lacked serious muscle to be any sort of threat, who flickered in and out of his vision like a wraith, now an Officer, had _apologized._ Not threatened, not bribed, not blackmailed, not _taken their loyalty for granted,_ but had drawn attention to their previous Officer’s leadership in a critical way, in a way that Dumisa hadn’t thought about it before. The training was simply something every mafia Lightning had gone through, it was a fact of life. Got green fire? Go to Vongola Lightning Training. Harden your skin. Be a shield. Protect your Family. Die. It had never occurred to him, nor anyone really, that what they were doing could be classified as abuse, could be classified as _brainwashing._

And the ending words were strangely old-fashioned, but they felt…right, somehow. Like…they had more weight behind them than an empty promise.

“Perun.” Víðarr looked around, and his gaze landed on the shaking assassin. The Officer tossed a scrap of cloth towards the Norwegian mute, and a sardonic grin twisted his lips. “Congratulations, you’re promoted to Lightning Administrator. Like you should have been three years ago.”

“But, I’m the Lightning Second…” That was Elicius, Levi’s old Admin, and Dumisa winced as Perun shrunk in on himself. Viðarr, however, turned to look at the protesting assassin.

“Are you, now?” He began, tilting his head and looking innocently confused. “But you were doing such a shit job, I thought that you didn’t want it anymore.”

There was dead silence, and Bronte covered her mouth, trying to hide the sniggers that threatened to burst forth.

“You little brat, you don’t deserve the title of Officer!” Elicius blustered, and Víðarr raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? Do you want it? You’re more than welcome to kill me to take it.”

“Bring it on!” Elicuis snarled, drawing a gun, and although Dumisa was watching carefully, he still _missed it._

Viðarr flickered out of sight, and then reappeared behind Elicius, a strange knife dripping blood. Elicius froze, and then toppled forward, his head bouncing and then rolling to a stop in front of Minnal. Dumisa was trying not to freak. Viðarr had been _in front of him_ , he’d had his _eyes on him the whole time_ , and the kid had just _vanished._

“The only good traitor is a dead one.” Viðarr stated, eyeing Elicius’ corpse with disdain. “Let this be a lesson for those who think about selling information to the CEDEF.”

Perun stood, and made his way over to Víðarr, an odd look on his face. Dumisa frowned, and then gaped, when Perun- poor, stupid, mute Perun who could barely manage missions unless he was dosed up on Rain Flames- spoke. The language was harsh and old, and sent shivers up Dumisa’s spine, but Víðarr barely flinched, instead looking pleasantly surprised, and replying in the same language. Dumisa gaped. Someone swore. _The fuck?_

Viðarr nodded at Perun’s reply to his question, and gave an odd sort of half-bow, before turning to the rest of them.

“Training is cancelled for today and tomorrow.” Officer Víðarr stated quietly. “You may take this time to update your current files with anything you may have been hiding from your previous Officer, relax, or come and ask questions. I will be sorting out the mess my predecessor left behind, but will be available in my office if need be. Thank you for your time. Perun, with me.”

He disappeared, leaving behind more questions than answers. Bronte stood immediately, brushing crumbs off her chest, and walked towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Shant demanded, and Bronte paused, turning around to give Shant a sly smile.

“I’m going to update my file, of course. According to guidelines, I’m one language away from Quality.” And with that bombshell, she strode out the door, hollering for their Officer to wait up because she had questions, dammit. Dumisa looked at Shant, who was still staring at the door where Bronte had disappeared to.

“Does that answer your question, Shant?” Dumisa asked, amused. Shant continued to stare.

“Bronte knows _six_ languages?”

Lei sighed, and placed his empty cup of tea on the low coffee table, cracking his neck.

“I too, must update my file.” He stated slowly, fumbling over the Italian pronunciation. “Dumisa, you come?” Dumisa drained his Rooibos and placed the cup and saucer on the table next to Lei’s, and stood up, following the demolition’s expert out the door. He didn’t know what to think of his new Officer, but he wanted to hope that he’d be a good one.

.

.

.

“Fuck the shitty old man.” Xanxus grumbled from the passenger seat of the VARIA car (one of the many), arms crossed and looking every inch the moody teenager. Squalo, in the drivers seat, sighed.

“Voi, shitty Boss, please don’t start. I don’t know why we were _all_ summoned, but the least you could do is _stop complaining._ ”

“Shitty shark.” Xanxus snapped back, but it didn’t hold any heat. Bel, squished in the back with Slaugh and the silently fuming Viðarr, whom had been dragged out from underneath mountains of paperwork and was not happy that he’d been interrupted. Slaugh was staring out the window, finger tapping on the door. In front of them, Lussuria and Mammon were arguing in hushed voices, and Bel picked out ‘ _CEDEF’_ and ‘ _plants’_ and ‘ _spies’_ often enough to understand what they were talking about. Viðarr had managed to pinpoint that the old Lightning Second (now retired) had been a CEDEF implant and dealt with it. He’d looked a little ill, and Bel resolved to talk to him after this meeting.

Although, they had forgotten how much their Sky had _bitched._ Especially when dealing with Nono Vongola. To be fair, however, Bel disliked the man as much as Xanxus did, for many of the same reasons. Didn’t mean that they whined about it though.

Squalo pulled up at the front of the Vongola Mansion, and parked the car in front of the doors, Bel smirking as they realized that it was a deliberate ploy to annoy them. Housekeeping would probably move it, but it was the thought that counts. Fuck the shitty old man indeed. Xanxus exited the car, scowl still in place, and made his way through the front doors, ignoring the staff fluttering about. Bel followed, knowing exactly where they were going, despite not having been there in over four years. Same halls, same ugly wallpaper, same terrible taste in carpet, same stupid peasants. It was nice to know that some things hadn’t changed.

“Xanxus.” The man Bel recognised as Coyote greeted them, his eyes skimming over Bel, Slaugh and Theo, before dismissing them. “Nono has been expecting you.”

“Trash.” Xanxus grunted, before pushing past him to enter the conference room, his Guardians on his heels. Xanxus picked the seat that was the furthest away from Don Vongola that he could get, Squalo seating himself at his Sky’s Right, and interestingly, Mammon took Lussuria’s usual place at his left. Lussuria stood behind Xanxus, and Bel stood behind Squalo, Slaugh behind Mammon, Theo…Víðarr already unnoticeable to everyone else in the room. It was only Bel’s familiarity with his magic that enabled them to know his location (by the door, ready for an escape), and it seemed as though no one else knew where he was.

“Xanxus, my son. And Guardians. I’m glad you could make it on such short notice.”

Bel had almost forgotten how much Nono Vongola looked and acted like the Headmaster. It made their skin crawl and itch, and they resisted the urge to stab him, to attack, to watch him _burn and beg and scream and bleed out…_

“Voi, easy.” Squalo whispered, brushing their hand and sending a bolt of Tranquillity down their spine. “You’re making them nervous.”

“So the peasants should be.” Bel hissed back, glaring at Sawada, the smiling buffoon. Who still, they found interesting to note, had not found any Guardians that could bear to put up with him. Even his constant companions, Lal Mirch and that weird peasant who couldn’t speak properly, looked to be tired of his general idiocy.

“Bel, they don’t know who you are. And an unknown glaring at Sawada makes people wary.” Lussuria murmured. Bel scoffed, and stopping glaring. They couldn’t be bothered wasting their energy on glaring at an imbecile anyway.

“Xanxus, I do not believe that I have been introduced to your new Officer’s.” Nono phrased it like a question, but it was really a demand, and Bel resisted the urge to scowl at the blatant manipulation of their Sky.

“My Cloud Officer and Guardian, Slaugh. You already know Officer’s Lussuria, Mammon, Squalo and Belphegor.” Xanxus drawled, waving a hand lazily. “Was there something you actually wanted to discuss, or are you planning on wasting my time?”

“I do not see Officer Belphegor anywhere, my son.” Nono persisted. “Is he outside the door?”

“He’s standing behind Officer Squalo, Don Vongola.”

And how much had Bel missed that Xanxus had been so annoyed (or betrayed) by the old man that he was Xanxus _di Varia_ , and called Nono _Don Vongola._ Sure, he had been iced…for six years. Belphegor sighed internally, and lamented the brain cells that they had lost. Belladonna scowled, a long, deep-seated hatred for ice rearing its head once more.

“I thought that Officer Belphegor had died.” Sawada commented.

“Evidently not.” Xanxus raised an eyebrow. “Was there something you _wanted to discuss_ , Don Vongola?”

“But it can’t be Officer Belphegor!” Sawada persisted. “Belphegor is _male._ The girl standing behind Superbi doesn’t even look like Belphegor.”

“It has been almost seven years.” Lussuria disparaged. “Do you need me to refresh your memory on what happens during the teen years?” Slaugh coughed to hide a laugh, and Bel felt their own lips twitching as Sawada floundered for a response.

“Am I correct in assuming that Officer Belphegor is female?” Nono demanded to know. Xanxus stayed silent, but the silence was telling enough. “Xanxus, the VARIA cannot have females on its rolls. This is the law, from the time of Sesto.”

“I am aware of the law.” Xanxus gritted out, and Bel felt tendrils of Wrathful Sky wrapped around them protectively, their own meagre Storm flickering weakly in response.

“We would be willing to set up a new identity for her, and relocate her elsewhere.” Sawada began, gaze pitying when he looked at them. “Don Sereno’s Heir is currently looking for a wife, it shouldn’t be too hard to…”

The conference room erupted.

Wrath flames covered the table and the walls, Sun and Mist filled the air and caused the old man’s Guardians to choke. It must have been Squalo holding them back, Slaugh standing in front of them with her axes wreathed in blackish purple fire. Bel had never really appreciated how possessive Slaugh was with her precious people, never truly appreciated how broad her Sky’s back was until he blocked them from Sawada’s sight, never realized how sharp Squalo’s voice could get (sword-sharp, the kind that cut through enemies with ease) until it was raised in their defence. Their own flames were itching to be loose, as small and meagre as their reserves were right now, and there were knives waiting to be used, spinning around their fingers.

.

“ _Be quiet.”_ Miraculously, everyone fell silent, and Bel eyed Theo…Víðarr, out of the corner of their eye. Víðarr had always been good at applying Lightning Flames in unorthodox ways, but making him Hard to Disobey? That was…scary. Impressive. Dangerous. Clearly the others thought so as well, because Víðarr found himself with six guns trained on him. The Lightning Officer scoffed, and rolled his eyes. Bel saw the flicker of Lightning Flames, and Theo wavered from their vision, fading into the background with ease. Sawada looked delightfully panicked, so did Lal Mirch and Nono

“Boss…Boss I can’t sense him.” The youngest of Nono’s Guardians, who looked like a Lightning, sounded flustered.

“My Lightning Officer, Víðarr.” Xanxus drawled. Visconti frowned.

“What happened to Levi?”

“He retired.”

“Much like your little CEDEF plants in Sun.” Lussuria added viciously. “I’m not _blind_.”

“Lussuria.” Squalo warned, and the Sun fell silent.

“Belphegor is _not going anywhere._ ” Xanxus snarled. “They are _my_ Storm.”

“Xanxus, do be reasonable…” Nono began, and Xanxus slammed his fist down on the table.

“I am past reasoning with you, old man. You threaten _my_ Storm Guardian, you restrict _my_ assassins, and you usurp _my_ authority. I’m done being nice.”

“Xanxus…”

“And you…” Xanxus turned to glare at Sawada. “The next time you open your fucking mouth, I will put a fucking bullet through it.” Bel shivered as the temperature dropped a few degrees, and Nono stood, eyes hard.

“You are disobeying me, son? Your own father?”

“You are not my father, trash.” Xanxus growled. Bel narrowed their eyes at the ice that was starting to creep across the table from where Nono’s hands rested upon it, a deep feeling of hatred welling within them. Their Sky hadn’t noticed, but Sawada had, and the buffoon looked insufferably smug as the ice inched closer and closer to their Sky’s hands, and all Bel could see was the room _that cursed room, where their Sky was imprisoned in ice_ and they stepped forward from out behind Slaugh, out behind Xanxus, and placed their hand on the table, next to their Sky’s.

“I would appreciate it, Don Nono Vongola,’ Bel began quietly, ‘if you would refrain from attempting to freeze my Sky again.” From the sudden tensing in Xanxus’ frame next to them, they could tell that he too had noticed the ice, now less than 10 centimetres away from his fist.

“Quiet, woman. Know your place.” Coyote snapped, and Bel laughed, low and menacing.

“I know my place, peasant. The question is, do you know yours?”

“You dare…”

“I dare.” Bel interrupted. “Because the Prince’s place is with his Sky, and no one in this room has the authority to tell the Prince otherwise. Not even Don Vongola. So be silent, and _know_ _your place, peasant._ ” They added mockingly, watching with pleasure as the peasant’s face turned an ugly puce colour. He unfortunately didn’t yell and scream, liked he clearly wanted to do, and Bel smirked at him. _Score one for VARIA._

“Females are not allowed in the VARIA, Xanxus. You will replace your Storm Officer within the next week, or face the consequences.” Nono dragged the attention back to him, and Bel gritted their teeth, resisting the urge to _burn_ the fucker into ashes.

“We are willing to field a new Storm Officer from the CEDEF.” Sawada put in. “Meets all of the VARIA requirements, and is relatively high in terms of power. Loyal, hardworking, talented, he can go on trial tomorrow.”

“Loyal to whom, voi?” Squalo muttered. “If he’s so talented, why are you getting rid of him?”

“I refuse.” Xanxus stated flatly.

“Then you leave me no choice, Xanxus.” Don Vongola stood up, mace held in one hand, and glared at Xanxus, at Bel, at all of them.

.

“VARIA is grounded until further notice. You may take this time to review your choices, and the consequences of disobeying the law.”

.

.

Xanxus stormed out of the room, his Guardians falling into step behind him; Squalo on his Right, Lussuria on his Left, Bel behind him with Slaugh and Víðarr either side. Mammon was perched on Slaugh’s shoulder once more, the two hooded assassins conversing in hushed whispers.

“Squalo.” Xanxus snapped once they were outside the mansion. “How’s the investigation of Enrico and Massimo’s deaths proceeding?”

“Slowly, voi. Vongola and CEDEF wiped out the Familigia that shot Massimo. No leads on Enrico. Our plants in the CEDEF say that the paperwork is a mess, and they’re trying to get through it as quick as they can, but…”

“Federico has been helping, Boss.” Lussuria uttered quietly. “He passed us a list of particular Families who had a grudge against Enrico, but the list is long.”

“Mammon, can we afford the restrictions that are placed on us?”

“Mou, Boss, we can, but Vongola can’t, which means that they’ll be hassling us for money if they don’t lift the restrictions within four months.”

“Four months of stir-crazy, cabin-fevered assassins.” Xanxus muttered. “God help us.”

“Boss, could we ignore the orders?” Slaugh wanted to know, and Xanxus shook his head.

“Not without serious repercussions, no.” Bel jumped into the car behind the others, Squalo taking the drivers seat and pulling out of the mansion drive, jaw set in a harsh line.

“If we do, voi, it’s treason, and we’ll all be shot. Down to the last assassin. Or it’ll just be Boss, as VARIA Head. It could also include all Officer’s, because we were at the meeting, and we were all complicit.”

“Fuck.” Víðarr summed up eloquently, and Slaugh groaned.

“Don Vongola and the External Advisor _have_ gone mad. Do they even think about _why_ our minions became assassins? How am I supposed to keep Cloud in check if they can’t slake their bloodlust?”

“Oh honey.” Lussuria sighed. “Not just your division. Sun can get away with intensive training for two months, before we’ll start getting antsy.”

“Perhaps now you’ll all have time to catch up on your paperwork and your expenses.” Mammon snarked. “Cloud, Rain and Storm are behind by at least three months, and don’t get me started on _Lightning._ ”

“At least I’ll have four months to get my division up to Quality.” Víðarr slumped in his seat. “It still might not be enough though. You said that Lightning was messed up, but I didn’t realize _how_ fucked up it was.”

“Víðarr.” Bel began. “You could put your peasants to work finding out if that law is actually _true;_ in writing, signed, etcetera, or whether it’s just hearsay, or ‘something everybody knows’. They might learn something.”

“Trash.” Xanxus snapped. Fuck, he had a headache. Dealing with the shitty old man used to be easy, now it was an exercise in restraint. Quite literally in this case. _Fuck_ , this was precisely the reason why the VARIA were called ‘Vongola’s Attack Dogs’; the old man held their leash so tight that they were choking, and when he wasn’t satisfied with what they were doing, he’d muzzle them. Curse the fucking shitty old man for doing this to him, to _them_.

“Mammon, set your Mists to finding out if that law is real. Lussuria, now would be a good time for health check-ups and vaccines, since we have time to kill. Víðarr, get your Division up to Quality. Bel, get _yourself_ up to Quality, and cull any CEDEF plants you have. If Sun had them, then Storm most certainly will. Squalo, Slaugh, finish your paperwork. If Vongola is desperate by four months, we want to be on top of everything by the time he comes begging.”

“What will you be doing, Boss?” Slaugh wanted to know. Xanxus grimaced.

“Telling the VARIA that missions are suspended until further notice.”

.

.

“I think that went rather well.” Bel commented as they made their way up to the Officer’s Quarters. Xanxus snorted.

“Say that in a few weeks, I dare you.”

The address to the entirety of the VARIA (some by phone) had outlined and explained _what_ exactly had happened in the meeting with Don Vongola, and _why_ they were now, for lack of a better term, grounded. Like a misbehaving child. There had been some grumbling, but you didn’t stay a VARIA assassin for long if you agreed with the mafia ideals on women. Considering most assassins came from overseas, and about thirty percent _were_ women, there hadn’t been much dissent from the masses. Except for that one Storm that Bronte from Lightning had brained as soon as the words ‘ _weak’_ had left his mouth. He’d been a CEDEF plant anyway, and one of Ekaitz’ buddies.

From that point forward, all missions’ bar the search for Raijin from Lightning and the ongoing investigation into the Vongola Brother’s deaths, and the current active ones, were cancelled. Bel had resolved to come up with new ways to keep their Storm peasant’s occupied. Maybe they could redecorate the training hall, or even the entire Storm Wing. The paisley wallpaper from the 60’s was a nightmare to look at, and since they were going to be spending an indeterminate amount of time in the VARIA mansion, then perhaps it was time for a change.

“Does this mean that VARIA will be on indeterminate hiatus?” Bel wanted to know. If it was their fault, then they should be the one to tell their silly Storm peasants about it. It would be a good chance to get Storm back into shape, and get themselves back up to Quality fitness, but it meant that the other divisions would suffer. They were selfish, but not that selfish.

“I don’t know.” Xanxus answered, frowning. “From a financial point of view, Vongola can’t afford to have the VARIA out of action. Same goes for the international business side; we’re the ones who actually go overseas and deal with clients, not Vongola HQ. The CEDEF is a sinking ship waiting to explode, and it’s only Lal Mirch holding it together. Sawada is too obsessed with his precious ‘ _Tuna-fishy’_ coming for the Vongola Ball to pay much attention to anything.”

“What…?”

“His son, Tsunayoshi.” Xanxus clarified, a grimace crossing his face for a bare second. “Vongola Decimo. Cute, harmless, and a bit stupid. Like a fluffy bunny.”

“And that’s our future leader?”

“Yep. Decent Guardians, for a bunch of brats. You remember Gokudera?” Bel cast their mind back, and it was Belphegor who supplied the image of some runty little peasant begging to be let into their Division.

“The Storm peasant who was more dog than human?”

“Brat’s Storm. And alleged Right Hand, but I think that the Sword brat would be a better fit. Ask Squalo for the files on them.” Xanxus sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, giving Bel a rueful grin that made their insides clench weirdly. “What a day, huh? Barely back for a day and everything is going to shit.”

“It is Vongola we are dealing with, sky peasant. Things are normally shit.”

“Not to this degree.” Bel considered this for a moment.

“Then why did you…?”

“Protest? Not let them take you away?” Bel nodded, eyes on the carpet, and Xanxus slowed his strides to a stroll, prolonging their conversation.

“It may have been easier in the long run just to let them have me. I could have slaughtered Don Sereno’s Heir, stolen their coffers, and then returned.”

“You are worth more than an arranged marriage.” Xanxus finally replied, after a long silence. “You are worth more than your gender, more than whatever the mafia says your biological body should be. And you shouldn’t have to conform to the societal standards that the mafia sets because the old man said so.”

It was very unbecoming of a Prince, but Bel gaped at him, floored. And embarrassed; a faint heat crept into their cheeks, and Bel hoped that the darkness of the hallway hid the redness from prying eyes.

“And one day, Bel,’ Xanxus paused outside the door to their quarters, and turned to look at them, ‘one day, if you ever decide to date, I hope you find a man, or woman, who treats you like the fucking royalty that you are. Because you deserve to be happy, and I will kill anyone who says otherwise.”

Bel stood stock still, mind spinning, as Xanxus bent down, and bestowed a kiss upon their brow ( _affectionprotectionwarmthHOME)_.

“Goodnight, _principessa delle tempeste, la mia piccolo tempest._ ” He walked down the hallway to his own quarters, humming an old tune that seemed familiar to Bel, but they couldn’t place it at that moment. Unbidden, their hand went to touch their forehead, just shy of where her Sky had kissed them. Bel let a small smile cross their face for a moment, still staring down the hallway long after Xanxus had disappeared, before they shook their head, and entered their quarters, shutting the door and leaning against it.

“Foolish Prince.” They sighed to themself. “You’ve gone soft.”

The little voice in their head laughed, and pointed out that maybe the strange phenomena known as ‘affection’ wasn’t such a bad thing.

.

.

.

.

**Omake**

“So, apart from learning magic and being turned into a girl, voi, what did you actually do at the school?”

“Slaughtered rats mostly, for consulting the Oracle.” Theo answered before Bel could.

“Stabbed irritating people.” Luna supplied.

“Broke Granger’s ribs for touching her.” Theo continued.

“Insulted people.”

“Killed a Dark Lord.”

“Slayed a thousand year old beast.”

“Murdered a professor or two.”

“Cut people’s hands off for insulting them.”

“Plotted.”

“Schemed.”

“Threw knives around.”

“Called everyone ‘peasant’.”

“Set things on fire.”

“Disintegrated things.”

“Set _people_ on fire.”

“Voi!” Superbi interrupted. “Set people on fire?”

“Worthless peasants weren’t worth the air they breathed.” Bel muttered sulkily. “They insulted Luna.”

“That was how we met!” Luna chirped, and Lussuria started laughing, hanging off the couch as Luna continued. “They had thrown my books around, and were taunting me, and then all of a sudden, there was _fire._ It was such a pretty red too. Then Slaugh broke a nose, and there was _more red_ , and Theo hexed someone and there was _screaming_.”

“Another day in the life of Belladonna Vulpecula Potter.” Theo narrated.

“You weren’t complaining.” Bel snapped and Theo grimaced.

“I did when you had me hunting _rats._ And after the lovely dip in the lake.”

“Dip in the lake?” Slaugh asked, leaning forwards. “DO tell.”

“Theo…” Bel warned, but Theo ignored her.

“So, it begins when Bel was entered in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, someone’s vague plot to try and kill her, and for the Second Task…”

Bel groaned, and covered their face with their hands, attempting to become one with the seat. And as Squalo and Lussuria moved closer, eager for more blackmail, Bel rued the day that Theo met the VARIA.

**Omake 2- Luna meets her new friends!**

.

Luna hummed as she walked down the hallway, her new Officer perched on her shoulder and seemingly content to remain silent as Luna dodged all the blatant traps (it was fascinating. She didn’t know that the pretty indigo could do _that)_ and giggled when one of them was sprung and it covered her in glitter. Officer Mammon had managed to avoid that one, but Luna was now sparkly, and she felt like a faerie! It was all so exciting! Belphedonna was all serious and weirdly happy now, and Theoðarr was no longer sad and floating aimlessly like he had been before they escaped, and her papa approved of her new career choice! Well, the Nargles had said that he was glad that she was out of the castle, but details!

“We are here.” Mammon stated, pointing to a picture frame on the wall. It was a very nice seaside landscape, and Luna would have preferred it to be a forest, but to each their own, she supposed.

“Is there a password?” She asked, and Mammon (who felt like a Viper, or a cat more than a Mammon) started slightly.

“No. Just go on in.” Luna nodded, and walked through the painting, pulling a face when she felt spiderwebs tangle in her hair, and Officer Mammon grip her clothes tightly.

“It’s not used often then, this passage?” Luna asked, and Mammon sneezed.

“I meant open the door _behind_ the painting, not go _through it!”_ The miser grumbled, and Luna stepped sideways, the indigo fire creating a doorway into the hidden room, and startling several others with the pretty indigo around their hands, some in their eyes, and others twisting around their legs. All in such lovely shades; Luna had never seen so many variations before!

“Well, that was exciting!” Luna exclaimed, and Mammon hoped of her shoulder, floating onto a raised dais of sorts.

“Mist Division. Our new apprentice, Luna.”

“Hi!” Luna waved cheerfully, and immediately, a Mist bounced over.

“Hi, I’m Jabberwock! It’s really nice to meet you! Your Mist is really pretty, do you specialize in Constructs or Curses or Enchantment? You’re very sparkly. How come you came through the wall and not the door? Did you help save Officer Belphegor? Who was the Lightning who killed Levi?”

“I’m Luna! It’s nice to meet you too! Thank you, yours is a lovely shade of sapphire, did you know that? I’m an all-rounder, and I didn’t know that there was a door, so I went through the painting! I met Belphedonna at school and they are my best friend, along with Theoðarr and Slaughfay when they were there. Did you know that there are so many secret passageways in this castle? And there are very little wrackspurts, how do you get rid of them all?

“ ** _I have so many questions!”_** They both chorused, and started giggling.

“Oh god,’ someone whispered, ‘there’s two of them.”

“Petition to assign her to Jabberwock and Name her Alice.” Another put in, and someone chimed “Seconded!”

Mammon sighed, and rolled their eyes as Jabberwock and Luna-soon-to-be-Alice continued to sparkle and jabber.

“I don’t get paid enough for this.” They muttered, drawing up the standard Mist apprenticeship contract between the two.

This was going to be _taxing._

.


	18. Led by a Delicate and Tender Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> "Led by a delicate and tender prince…" Hamlet, William Shakespeare.
> 
> .
> 
> "Waltz, Masquerade Suite" – Khatacturian

.

**VARIA HQ.**

**Detainment time- 2 WEEKS**

**.**

Bel let out a scream of frustration and the knives thudded into the targets, each buried deep into a fatal point. But it was not the same as _killing._ It was Week 2 of the VARIA Grounding, and Bel was going _mad_. Storm Division was _mad._ Mist was stir-crazy and had taken to pranking everything that moved, Rain were buried under paperwork that had been put off, Sun was _intensive_ , Cloud was itchy. The only normal ones were Lightning, but that was because Viðarr had them so busy that they barely had time to _sleep._ It was only week 2, how the hell could they manage like this for _four months?_ Some of their Storms had _joined_ the Lightning lessons to keep from being bored. Bel would have done so as well, had they not known the material that Viðarr was teaching already.

Still, it had been amusing to watch Viðarr hammer first English, then Ancient Norse, into his subordinate’s heads. Perun had helped teach the Ancient Norse class also, which had been interesting to listen to a native speaker (apparently, Ancient Norse was all Perun had spoken growing up, and it was the only language he remembered after a mission with Levi), but Bel was _bored._

Slaugh was pounding her Division into the ground while teaching them new techniques, followed by intensive stealth training ( _because, dammit,_ Slaugh had shouted at them, _we are Morgana dammed assassins, not the bloody CEDEF)_ , and during the evenings, meditation, because Clouds had _tempers._ But it was nothing compared to Slaugh’s, and the Scottish witch was handling their sudden ascendency with grace, aplomb and sharpened axes. Cloud Division were near reverent of their new Officer, and several fights had started between Cloud and those that badmouthed their Officer because of it.

The less said about what Luna, now Alice, and her new friend Jabberwock were doing, the better. Bel didn’t want to know. Ignorance was bliss. And plausible deniability.

Lussuria was dragging Sun around the slums, an exercise in infiltration, blending in and healing, most of Sun division looking uncomfortable in civilian clothing, Lussuria dressed in severe blacks and a doctor’s coat leading the charge, giving away their services for _free._ The numerous pharmacies and clinics were clamouring for blood, but Lussuria had done this before, and several underground clinics had offered spaces for Sun Division to use. Bel had followed them out one day, using a very small amount of their own flames to Disintegrate the beginnings of a tumour, merging their flames with Lussuria’s with ease, but it had been draining, and they had snuck back to VARIA HQ early to rest.

Squalo was making sure that his Rains knew the meaning of tranquillity, since they were dosing the air filters and the water with Rain Flames in an attempt to keep VARIA from imploding, and it was working so far, but it wouldn’t take long for assassins to build up an immunity. In between introducing them to three new weapons (bladed, of course) and drilling them in strategies (Bel joined in on those lessons, because they were _interesting_ , and the shark peasant was a good teacher), Squalo _somehow_ managed to find time to hassle Bel and Xanxus about their paperwork and helping Bel get back up to Quality. Bel didn’t know that the shark _knew_ that many languages, or that he could balance like those circus peasants on a thin bit of wire, but hearing him laugh as Bel tripped on growing legs and face-planting on the floor for the sixth time was a bit much.

Bel did not see much of their Sky during the past two weeks, the teen buried under mountains of paperwork that he had missed due to being on ice, and brushing up on his own languages. He was also collaborating with Mammon and Mist Division, who had stormed the Archives and were hunting through the older files in search of clues towards the VARIA laws, and was zealous in his search. Mist had uncovered well over three hundred instances of VARIA assassins being women, being known _as_ women, some dating back before the time of Quinto (Quarto’s Lightning had been ex-VARIA, before she had bonded and moved to Vongola to be with her Sky). It was fascinating, but Bel had never really been one for paperwork (that was what the storm-fairy peasant and the manservant-peasant were for), and it _bored_ them. Some of the stories were interesting, but most of it was logistics and mission reports, and Bel had enough of those to read to start with.

And there was only so much torture that they could subject their subjects to before they died and left Bel without a Division to lead. Today was a rest day for their Division, after Bel had pushed and chased them across the obstacle course from Hell (complete with fire!) and made notes on their subjects abilities, killed a couple more CEDEF peasants trying to infiltrate, and even some stupid peasant who clearly hadn’t listened, and blamed the VARIA grounding on Bel. Now, Bel was sprawled upside down on the couch in their quarters, Molan and Yosei sitting at the desk quietly going over some paperwork while Volkan corrected Pyry’s Russian. .

But Bel was still _bored._ Bored, bored bored Bored Bored BORED _BORED…._ oh, shiny knife. And…an owl. A very pretty owl, nice and black with blood on its talon’s and Lady Malfoy’s handwriting etched across the…. _shit._

Bel tumbled off the couch, staring in horror at the owl, who was staring at them with a distinct lack of amusement. Sweet Morrigan, it was Aunt Narcissa’s _personal_ owl. Bel hadn’t even told Lady Malfoy that they were planning on escaping any time soon, hadn’t even considered the fact that their Aunt might like to know what they were doing, blood-related or not….hadn’t Bel missed Lord Black’s trial? Oh, Merlin, Aunt Narcissa was going to _murder_ them. It was expected that Bel should have attended, being Lord Black’s ‘goddaughter’, and they were a definite no–show since the VARIA had been grounded at the time…Bel wasn’t even sure that their Sky would have let them go back to England so soon anyway.

“Highness?” Molan queried, staring at the owl as well. “Is everything alright?”

“I am about to die.” Bel replied, reaching out towards the letter as it started to smoke. Oh, merciful Morgana, it was a _Howler._ But Aunt Narcissa didn’t yell, even for one of these, but that merely meant….

.

 _“Words cannot express the amount of disappointment I feel in regards to you, Officer Belphegor.’_ Their Aunt’s cool, clipped tones had an edge of ice and steel dipped in venom, and Bel wilted from their position on the floor.

‘ _Whilst I understand that the opportunity to escape from Hogwarts presented itself in a timely fashion, and that undoubtedly you seized it with equal zest and excitement, the negligence you displayed in contacting your current nearest blood relatives and informing us of the situation and your subsequent venture into the unknown is downright shameful, and not at all becoming of royalty_ or _peasants.”_

Bel sunk lower to the floor, wishing it would swallow them. Molan and Pyry were having a staring contest with the owl, while Yosei was taking notes on the message. Volkan was trying not to laugh.

_“That being said, Lord Black, now exonerated, wishes to speak with you at your earliest convenience, as he was sworn to be god **father** to Harrison James Potter, and not Belladonna Vulpecula Potter-Black-Peverell. Of which you are not either, but that is neither here nor there. The point is, kin of mine, is that you now share blood, therefore Lord Black is obligated to care for you. And make sure that you don’t end up married to the wrong person or worse, a cousin, like Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga. Your other, ah, ‘adopted’ uncle’, one Remus Lupin, also wishes to speak with you on the matter, as he was considered to be both your father’s and your mother’s friend._

_It is of vital concern that you reply to this letter with all due haste, including your current location, health status and whether or not you are safe, because I will know if you reply under duress, and although we are not truly related, rest assured that I will burn your prison to the ground and salt the earth afterwards. I have done so once, and will not hesitate to do so once more. The Dearborn’s can vouch for that. To not do so will prove to be detrimental to your survival at the next family gathering, because I **will** duel you myself, before handing you over to your Aunt Cassiopeia, who will no doubt instruct you on the proper levels of etiquette and communication required between members of the family. Mesophistoles will eagerly await your timely reply._

_Yours in faith,_

_Narcissa, Lady Malfoy, previously of House Black.”_

.

The letter combusted, and Bel watched the ashes float down to land on the black carpet, a shiver running down their spine.

“Who the hell…” Yosei began, and Volkan lost the battle with his laughter, deep booming chuckles bouncing off the walls.

“The Queen has scolded the Prince and demanded the Prince write to her! All hail to the Queen!” The laughter continued to reverberate around the room, and Bel’s fingers twitched.

“My Aunt.” They informed their loyal retainers. “By the ritual that tied me to the blasted magical enclave.” Because Bel was transparent with their retainers, on the condition that they also not lie to the Prince, and they needed to know about magic, in case something ever happened to Bel again.

“Nevertheless, The Queen could be classified as an informer.” Molan mused. “It would be useful to have someone scold Highness on occasion.”

“Molan…” Bel warned, and Yosei picked up the train of thought.

“From the sounds of it, the Queen will also be able to put the Prince in their place if they are being particularly difficult.”

“Who’s a pretty bird?” Pyry cooed at the owl, the demon bird hooting softly as the Storm scratched under its chin, feathers poofing in pleasure. “You are! Such a pretty bird! Such a clever owl for finding the Prince!”

Mesophistoles nipped gently at Pyry’s fingers, and Bel narrowed their eyes, inwardly sulking. Of _course_ the demon owl that deliberately dig it’s talons into their arm would like Pyry more than it liked them.

“Molan. Pen and the parchment scroll on my desk.” Bel ordered. “The Queen has demanded a timely reply, so I shall respond with all due haste.”

Anything to stop Aunt Narcissa from actually _visiting._ She might decide to burn down the entirety of Italy to find Bel if they didn’t send the letter fast enough.

.

.

_Dear Aunt Narcissa,_

_No doubt, as you can deduct from this letter, I am in fine health and not in any immediate danger. There is no need to burn and salt anything. At this current point in time; this may change in the next few weeks, depending on my sanity levels._

_I am currently in Italy, back with the VARIA, of which I used to belong to, and reinstated to Officer with little fuss. Unfortunately, the VARIA have been grounded, on account that I, now biologically female, am not allowed to be a part of the elite assassination squad. My Boss and Sky, Xanxus di Varia, refused, as I am his Crimson Knight. We are now confined to the VARA HQ until Don Vongola, our benefactor, decides otherwise, and that could be anywhere from two to four months. He has stipulated that if I am replaced and married off to a Familigia of their choice, than he will lift the restrictions, but my Sky is more stubborn than he, and will not budge on the subject._

_You may be pleased to note that I am not completely alone; Fay Dunbar, now named Slaugh, is the Violet Knight and Cloud Officer, Luna Lovegood is now going by Alice and has teamed up with an equally…imaginative Indigo Aspect by the name of Jabberwock. Theodore Nott, having escaped with us, is now the Lightning Officer, going by Viðarr, which suits him. I do not know if he is my King’s Emerald Knight, and I did not think it polite to ask, even though my King and my Theo get along well enough. I do, however, have the utmost sympathy for my King’s Blue Knight, who is his second in command and perhaps the most long-suffering of his Knight’s, but that can’t be helped considering that the VARIA consists mainly of people who didn’t fit in with societal norms._

_In regards to Lord Black, I offer my most sincere apologies that I was not able to attend his trial and his subsequent exoneration, but as stated before, VARIA were banned from leaving the grounds at the time of his trial, and it would have been considered treason if I had disobeyed that order. I myself anticipate our meeting, as I believe that Lord Black may hold the answers as to why our royal person was abducted for whatever nefarious purposes the Headmaster may have held. It is in my Sky’s opinion that Lord Black knew something, and that is why the Headmaster sought to silence him by sentencing him to Azkaban without a trial._

_It is my sincere wish that this letter finds you and your husband in good health, and may fortune favour you in the years to come._

_Regards_

_His Serene Highness, Selaphiel, Prince of Yovigislav_

_Officer Belphegor of the VARIA_

_Belladonna Vulpecula Potter-Black-Peverell_

( _The royal seal of Yovigislav)_

_(The seal of Storm Division)_

_(The seal of the Ancient Houses of Potter, Peverell and Black)_

.

.

.

**Detainment duration- 4 WEEKS**

**.**

“Don Vongola demands your presence at the Vongola Ball.” Visconti opened, and Xanxus sighed, already wishing for alcohol so that this conversation would be over. Or so that he could throw the bottle at Visconti’s head; either option was preferable at this stage. The Vongola Cloud Guardian had shown up at the doors ten minutes ago, and Lei from Lightning had immediately shown him to Xanxus’ private office, not wanting Vongola snooping around. Xanxus had immediately asked the Lightning to find Squalo and Lussuria, but judging by the amount of time between asking and now, it was harder than he thought it would be.

“I won’t be replacing my Storm Officer, Visconti. Does that change his demand?”

Visconti looked mildly uncomfortable.

“He has requested that the Storm Officer not come, and that you take a plus one to this event, out of the general pool.” Visconti’s disgust at the mention of the ‘general pool’- the list of single daughters of various Alliance Dons- was mimicked on Xanxus’ face. And entire evening spent with a simpering fool trying to flirt her way into his good graces? He was sixteen, for fucks sake. The general pool would be Squalo’s age!

“I don’t suppose they’d fall for the ‘my Rain Officer is a female’ trick again, would they?” Xanxus smirked, and Visconti turned away to hide a grin. He’d done that at the last Vongola Ball he’d attended, and Squalo, wishing to spare his Sky (and the VARIA) from a bad mood, had volunteered to go as his date. Mammon had the pictures of Squalo in drag, and it was brought out at the shark’s birthday. Every year. Without fail.

“Sorry.” Visconti sat down in the chair opposite Xanxus, rubbing his temples. “What a mess. Ottava would have never stood for this.”

“Visconti…”

“No, shut up and let me finish.” Visconti growled, and Xanxus shut up, not wanting to provoke the Cloud Guardian. “When I was in VARIA (shut your mouth brat, I had to start somewhere) over _half_ were female. Infiltration specialists, informants, assassins, drivers, healers and Archivists. In some cases, a woman was better suited to a job than a man, and we never protested, because we knew that they were Quality.”

“You’d just come out of a war, Visconti.” Xanxus agreed. “There weren’t many men left.”

“No.” The Cloud continued. “And when there were, after Ottava had stepped down and my Sky took the reins of Vongola, things changed. For the worse. I had thought, that if Federico took up the mantle of Vongola Decimo, the bad decisions that Nono had made would have been rescinded, but…”

“Fede got kidnapped and was rejected by the Vongola Rings.” Xanxus finished. “And now VARIA is grounded because I refused to replace my Storm Officer and Guardian, and the new Heir is a fluffy bunny. Put in a decent showing for the Ring Battles, but if I wasn’t ordered to throw them…”

“You could have been made Decimo by conquest.” Visconti finished unexpectedly, and Xanxus swore, reaching blindly for the bottle of whiskey he kept in his draw, and taking a long pull, before handing it to Visconti. Visconti stared at it, and then shrugged, taking a swig and passing it back.

“Shit.” Xanxus breathed out. “ _Shit._ Did the old man know about this?”

“It didn’t come up in conversation, no.” Visconti retorted. “You forget, as does my Sky, that Visconti is _older_ than Vongola. Ten years older, but still older. If Vongola has records, so does Visconti. I may not be main branch, but I still have access to things. How do you think Secondo took over? He certainly wasn’t main line.”

“The old man didn’t talk about Ricardo often, except in passing to say ‘ _you look so much like him’_. I hated hearing that.” Xanxus grumbled. “Figures he wouldn’t want something like that to get out.”

“Xanxus.” Visconti sighed, looking every inch his age, and Xanxus remembered that Visconti was older than the old man, had lived a rather strenuous life, and should have retired _years_ ago. He was what, pushing eighty by now? He had grandchildren, Xanxus could remember that much, and one of them was around Squalo’s age now. Most mafia men either retired or ‘retired’ at his age.

“I’m not mad at you.” Xanxus sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was hard to be mad at Visconti anyway; the Cloud had been his favourite out of the old man’s Guardians, simply because Visconti treated him like a person, and not like trash. “The shitty old man pushed too far this time, Visconti. If he had just ignored the fact that Bel is biologically female, like everyone else has been doing, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have bloodthirsty, stir-crazy assassins blowing things up or fucking with everyone’s mind because they’re bored. If he had grounded Bel from missions, sure, that would have been doable. Bel would be pissed, but I could handle that. But I have over _three hundred assassins_ , Visconti, in one building. I can only keep them busy for so long.”

“I understand.” Visconti nodded, standing up. “I shall try to appeal to my Sky, but I make no promises. Ganauche agrees with me on this matter, so perhaps he may be able to assist. But don’t count on it.”

The sound of an explosion resounded through the building, and it was a testament to how commonplace it had become in the past month that Xanxus did not even twitch, even as Visconti flared his Flames and pulled out a gun.

“VOI!!!! SHITTY LIGHTNING!!! USE THE SHITTY HANDLE!!”

“I will attend the Ball, if only to escape the madness for a while.” Xanxus deadpanned as his Rain’s voice continued to shout, as the fire alarms activated and the explosion sirens went off. “As will my Guardians. Be careful on your way out.”

“Thank you.” Visconti replied, voice a tiny bit faint. “I will try to do my best. The Ball is next week. The official invites will be here by tomorrow.”

“SUPERBI, SHUT UP! SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO BE PRODUCTIVE!” Slaugh all but screamed from the other side of the mansion, echoed by Bel demanding silence.

Xanxus sighed, and downed the rest of the whiskey, already hearing Lussuria berating him.

.

At least Mammon and Viðarr were quiet.

.

.

.

**Detainment period- 5 WEEKS**

**Vongola Ball.**

.

“What is this?” Xanxus stared. Squalo stared. Bel smirked at them, looking like a cat that just caught the bird, the deep, blood red dress contrasting with the pale skin and the blonde curls twisted up and held in place with…their crown? Spotting a pleased looking Mammon perched on the silent Viðarr (who kept tugging at his suit and undoing then re-tying his tie), he deduced that the Mist had managed to scry and grab it for them. The same shade of lipstick painted their lips, and Xanxus once again felt so very out of his depth because his Storm Guardian _was in a dress but Bel was male and a little brat but…_

“Passive-aggressive protesting.” They replied, and Slaugh snorted with laughter, looking _extremely_ feminine in a deep purple dress that clung to her torso and fell to the floor in swathes of some kind of floaty material. There was lace-work around the neckline that looked impressive, until he noticed that it consisted of thorns and petunias. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Nonna cackled that the thorns were a warning, and that petunias symbolized resentment and anger. Xanxus smirked, and Slaugh gave him a sharp grin, before turning her head and letting him see the monkshood hairpins that held up a multitude of small braids, and he laughed.

“A subtle message, Slaugh?” He asked, and Slaugh met his eyes, her own burning, the sharp grin still on her lips, drawing attention to the dark purple, almost black lipstick and the cat-like eyes.

“A warning for those who can see.” She replied. “But for those who are blind, my blades, flames and tongue shall simply have to be the deterrent.”

“Slaugh, darling, you look positively ravishing.” Lussuria trilled, the Sun Guardian looking uncomfortable in a male suit (with a black tie, no yellow in sight) and fiddling with the black feathers in their hair. Xanxus frowned, feeling through the bond that it was one of _those_ days for the normally cheerful Sun, but not knowing what to do about it. Thankfully, Slaugh came to the rescue.

“And you look awkward, Officer Lussuria.” Slaugh replied. “Stop slouching. Even if you want to wear a dress, it does not excuse poor posture.” Lussuria laughed, and straightened up, even as Slaugh went over and adjusted the jacket to sit properly.

“I’ll see if next time I can’t ask my father to send you a kilt in our colours, if the VARIA does not have one.” Slaugh continued. “It won’t be accurate, but it might make you feel better.”

“I would appreciate that, honey.” Lussuria replied, subdued. “Unless there is a designer in your family to create a VARIA tartan.” Slaugh looked thoughtful, before she smiled.

“I’ll talk to Cousin Morwen about it. She’s a seamstress, so might know someone. Failing that, maybe Cousin Seth. But you are missing something, Officer Lussuria.” Slaugh twisted her fingers together, and a yellow carnation appeared, bright and vibrant. Slaugh pinned it to Lussuria’s jacket, and gave the Thai Sun a light kiss on the cheek, lipstick refusing to smear, and whispered something in Lussuria’s ear. Lussuria smiled then, soft and slow, and a feeling of gratitude flowed down from their Guardian Bond.

“Voi, Boss, did you have to pick up your date?” Squalo grumbled, and Xanxus turned to the shark, offered him a sly grin, before stepping forward, and offering his arm to Bel.

“Most Beauteous Storm Guardian, shall we go scorn the masses and burn things?” Squalo choked, and Bel grinned up at him, taking his arm and gliding towards the door.

“O Most Wrathful Sky, only if there are peasants to irritate.”

“Voi, we are doomed.”

“Come now, Superbi.” As one, they all turned to face the staircase, Bronte and Yosei descending the stairs, Bronte resplendent in a dark green dress that reminded Xanxus of a Greek chiton, Yosei not in red, but in a pale blue that matched…

“Squalo you sly dog.” He teased. “You and Yosei?”

“A statement, voi.” Squalo replied, smirking. “Admin Yosei is well known. Isn’t it strange that they are wearing a dress? Almost as if they’re female.”

“Bronte.” Xanxus raised an eyebrow as Viðarr kissed the back of Bronte’s hand, bowing over it, before offering her his arm. Even more surprising was that Bronte let him without braining him. The only female Lightning was well known for stabbing people when they touched her without permission, or treated her like a woman…a typical Italian mafia woman (which was stupid, considering that Bronte was originally from Haiti) who admittedly, were pretty brainless. With a few exceptions.

“Officer.” She inclined her head, accepting his arm. “You clean up nicely.”

“Thank you, Bronte. You look lovely this evening.” Viðarr smirked. “The Xi Squad tattoo is a nice touch. It suits you.”

“You flatter me, Officer.” Bronte batted her eyelashes. “As if you had nothing to do with my promotion.”

“Voi, what?”

“Bronte is now leader of Xi Squad.” Viðarr elaborated. “As she is the only one who is even relatively close to Quality.” Bronte turned to the side, displaying the lowercase _xi_ tattooed in black on her upper right arm.

“If we are all ready,’ Bel began, ‘perhaps we should leave. After all,’ she gave them all a feral grin, ‘we wouldn’t want to miss the show.”

.

.

Tsuna was very confused, and his head hurt from trying to remember and implement all the Italian and etiquette that Reborn had been shoving into his brain for the past two weeks. He didn’t see Xanxus-san anywhere, which made him sad, because even though he was scary, the little voice had told him that the tall scarred man could be trusted. Right now, he was stumbling his way through a conversation with a very patient Don Superbi (wasn’t that blonde swordsman called Superbi Squalo?), who would occasionally help out with pronunciation and words he couldn’t remember. Across the room, Takeshi was having a lively conversation with who Don Superbi had identified as Heir Visconti and Heir Scarlatti, both of whom were avid fencers and spoke enough Japanese that conversation flowed smoothly. Gokudera was sulking by the band and avoiding his sister, who was trying to find him with equal intensity, Lambo was not present because he was _five_ , instead back in HQ with Fuuta and one of Nono’s Guardian’s. One of the older ones, Tsuna was sure that his name was Visconti as well. Hibari was leaning against the wall, glaring at everything and everyone when they tried to approach him, Fon-sama next to him (he was embarrassed about his accent, Tsuna knew. Hibari-sempai’s inner perfectionist preventing him from speaking until the accent was gone). Ryohei-nii was oddly quiet and serious, speaking to the head of a small Familigia that Nono had not introduced him to, the lilting accents reaching his ears easily; Ryohei-nii and picked up Sicillian with startling ease, Chrome-chan being a very patient teacher for the Sun boxer.

Chrome-chan…he couldn’t see Chrome-chan, but the tentative bond with Mukuro-san hummed an assurance when he probed it, so hopefully she was okay.

“…Sawada-kun, are you listening?” Don Superbi asked, and Tsuna flushed.

“ _Gomenas…_ sorry, Don Superbi, my Guardians…”

“Ah.” Don Superbi chuckled. “Not to worry. I trust everything is alright?”

“ _Hai,_ I mean yes. I was concerned about Chrome-chan, since I cannot see her, but the…bond says she okay.” Don Superbi nodded, and opened his mouth to reply, but closed it just as quickly as he spotted something by the entrance. Confused, Tsuna turned to look, and his mouth dropped.

“Xanxus-san?” It was, but his hair looked like it had been trimmed recently (and he looked scarily similar to Hibari-sempai), and red feathers were braided into it, red that perfectly matched the colour of his date’s dress. His date….was pretty, Tsuna decided. The blonde was a shade he had never seen before, and it didn’t look dyed, and it was curly, but not as curly as Lambo’s. He didn’t understand the sharp intake of breath from Don Superbi, and the whispered ‘ _Prince the Ripper’_ in horror-filled tones, but perhaps it was a nickname for Xanxus? Whatever Don Superbi’s reaction, it was nothing compared to the look of rage that flitted across Don Vongola’s face, and Tsuna found himself shrinking away from that look, before it was covered.

“My son.” Don Vongola greeted, only to be met with a raised eyebrow.

“Not your son, Don Vongola.” Tsuna gaped. _What?_

“And…your Storm Guardian.”

“I have a name, Don Vongola.” The pretty woman smiled, and Tsuna trembled in place, seeing echoes of Reborn in it. “Please, use it.”

“It is no longer appropriate for…” Tsuna tuned out, his attention at the approach of a pale, unassuming man breaking away from the group at his date’s insistence, and making his way towards them, catching the tail end of their conversation.

“…shark’s Head, I guess. His great uncle, not his grandfather, but shark is technically branch family, despite being one step away from Heir. Someone you need to meet at these things. Don’t know who the kid is, though.”

Don Superbi nodded a greeting when they had come closer, hissing ‘ _assassins_ ’ into Tsuna’s ear, and introducing himself quickly.

“I am Don Superbi. Allied to Vongola, but not Alliance.”

“I am Viðarr, the Lightning Officer.” The teen bowed, and Tsuna bowed back, grateful that he didn’t have to shake another person’s hand. It was one custom of Italy that he disliked- he’d never really liked people touching him.

“Sawa…Tsunayoshi Sawada, Heir Vongola.” He introduced himself, and the Lightning Officer nodded, before Don Superbi stepped in and addressed the assassin.

“And this lovely lady? I do not believe I have seen her before.”

“I am Bronte.” The woman spoke, voice cold, but not unkind, and the voice whispered ‘ _dangerous, protective, loyal’_. Don Superbi looked taken aback at the woman answering, and Tsuna remembered that every woman he had been introduced to had not spoken, nor introduced themselves, but had nodded or curtseyed, and had not spoken unless directly addressed.

“And you are his, ah, girlfriend? Fiancée, perhaps?” Superbi struggled to salvage the situation, and Bronte smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.

“I am an assassin of the VARIA, Don Superbi. I lead Xi Squad. And before you ask, I am escorting my Officer on behalf of Lightning Division.”

“I said that I didn’t need an escort, Bronte.” Viðarr sighed, seemingly ignoring Don Superbi’s dumbfounded expression. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“Think of it as ensuring our future. Perun is a great Admin, but he’s still working through issues and I don’t want to become Officer.”

“What happened to Officer Levi?” Tsuna asked, curious as to why the big, hulking man wasn’t present. Bronte and Viðarr exchanged quick glances, before Viðarr replied.

“I killed him. Then I replaced him. He was harassing Boss.” Viðarr shrugged, and Tsuna swallowed a shriek of horror. The young, unassuming teen had killed the scary guy with umbrellas? And he was standing right in front of Tsuna? What if he said something that offended him and the Lightning Officer decided to kill him where he stood?

“Breathe, fluffy.” The command was in Japanese, and Tsuna instantly obeyed. _Kami_ , he wished that Takeshi was here to dispel the tension; the baseball obsessed teen could always calm him down.

A hand ruffled his hair, and Tsuna looked up through his bangs to spot the amused grin on Xanxus’ face.

“Xanxus-san!” He exclaimed, a small grin making itself known to his lips.

“Fluffy. How are you liking Italy so far? The old man taken you sightseeing yet?” Tsuna shook his head, mood falling instantly.

“We’re going through paperwork procedures. All day. For the past three weeks. Guardians arrive last night, sleep to midday.” Xanxus raised an eyebrow.

“Sounds boring. Don Superbi.” Xanxus nodded a greeting that Don Superbi returned, his gaze flicking to the so far silent date.

“Xanxus. And…” he trailed off, and the woman gave a sharp grin.

“ _Ushishishi,_ pirate peasant. We have met.”

“Officer Belphegor?” The older man looked stunned, before a scowl crossed his face. “We are merchants, not pirates.”

“Is there a difference? Sword-waving, big cannons, loot, goods, ships…”

“I get it.” Don Superbi snapped, and the woman laughed again, before turning to Tsuna.

“I am Storm Officer Belphegor, Heir Vongola.” She tilted her head the barest fraction, and there was a noise of protest from Don Superbi, until Belphegor turned to glare at him.

“I am still royalty, Don Superbi. I do not bow to anyone.”

“Belphegor, play nice.” Xanxus scolded, tapping her on the shoulder, and Belphegor sighed, waving her hand in clear dismissal.

“I am playing nice. I haven’t stabbed anyone yet.”

“ _Ano…._ ” Tsuna began, something bothering him.

“Yes, fluffy?”

“Wasn’t, ah, Yosei Storm Officer?” The voice had liked Yosei, and he didn’t want to know if she was dead, but…

“Interim.” Belphegor clarified, a grimace crossing her face. “I was…detained, for a few years. Yosei, as my second, held the position until I returned. They are now back as Administrator.”

“She’s also Squalo’s date.” Xanxus drawled. “Blue dress, on your eight.”

“She? But the VARIA…ah.” Don Superbi, to Tsuna’s concern, suddenly looked decades older. "The rumours about the VARIA committing treason and being stood down.”

“Grounded.” Belphegor corrected icily. “Because my Sky refused to replace me as Storm Officer on Nono Vongola’s demand that he do so, because I am a woman.” Tsuna noticed the small pulse of Sky Flames that Xanxus-san sent to Belphegor-chan, but it did little to soothe the Storm Officer’s ire.

“Squalo could do worse, Don Superbi.” Xanxus drawled, and Don Superbi flushed.

“That’s not what I meant.” Came the snapped reply. “It’s more that fact that she bares the insignia of Sigma Squad.”

“ _Shiguma sukuado?”_ Tsuna stumbled over the foreign words, badly, and Xanxus-san shot him an amused grin.

“ _Sabotājuchīmu*._ We use Greek letters to name Squads, symbols vary from upper case to lower. _”_ He clarified, and Tsuna made a small noise of understanding, eyes picking out the small circle with a weird line up the top on Yosei-san’s right shoulder. It was black, surrounded by a circle of thorns dripping red, and butterfly wings on either side. He clamped down on his knee-jerk reaction to flinch away ( _hie! Yosei-san was yakuza?_ ), and his eyes caught sight of another tattoo, on Bronte-chan’s shoulder, that looked like a squiggly lightning bolt. She caught his gaze, and grinned at him.

“Xi Squad. Um…hold on…” She started muttering under her breath, before her face lit up. “ _Kaitai chīmu*._ I think. My Japanese is…not good.”

 _“Īe_ , Bronte-chan, you have good pronunciation.” Tsuna assured her. “Demolitions?” He sounded out slowly, tripping over the ‘l’ sound, and Bronte nodded.

“Correct, Heir Vongola, I…” she stopped, and Tsuna froze as his bond with Chrome-chan _pulsed_ , Mukuro’s rage prickling the back of his neck. Oh, and the beginnings of static from Bronte-chan, and the heat from Xanxus-san’s Wrath Flames. Tsuna turned to Don Superbi, bowing jerkily.

“ _Shitsureishimasu.”_ He gritted out, before he spun on his heel and made his way across the grand ballroom, catching Hibari-sempai’s curious gaze and scowling slightly, hands coming up in the sign for ‘ _usagi_ ’(he was stupidly glad that Kusakabe-sempai had suggested it, since Hibari-sempai wasn’t very…talkative), not knowing that his eyes had turned a vicious burnt orange, and was encouraging others to move out of his way faster than usual.

The man who had grabbed Chrome-chan, and the surrounding leering men, didn’t seem to pick up on it, nor the gathering of the mist at their feet. He would have let Chrome-chan handle them normally, but they were trying to keep Mukuro a secret from everyone who wasn’t already in the know, and if that _kimoi sukebe_ didn’t let go of his Mist Guardian _this instant he was going to…_

He stopped just shy of his Mist, and stared at the woman dressed in purple, a purple so dark it was almost black.

“It’s rude to handle a Guardian without permission, worm.” Tsuna placed her instantly. Slaugh, the Cloud Officer. And next to her…Mammon, the Mist Officer. Both had won the Ring Battles, Slaugh had _beaten_ the Demon of Namimori. And it was Slaugh who was now gripping the man’s wrist in an iron grip with seemingly little effort. There was another woman who stood slightly in front of Chrome-chan, a firm hand on the Mist’s shoulder and another on the holster of a gun.

“Federico’s Rain, Hamlet. Ex-army. Sniper.” Xanxus spoke from next to him. “Have you not met your cousin?”

“No.” Tsuna was still angry, so the word came out a little more forcefully than he intended, and he could tell that he had surprised Xanxus. “But if Slaugh wants to teach the _sukebe_ a lesson for touching Chrome-chan, she’ll have to get in line.”

“Officer Slaugh.” That was Belphegor, looking exasperated as she stepped forward. “Do not touch the peasants, you don’t know where they’ve been.”

“Come now, Officer Belphegor,’ Mammon drawled, sounding both childish and menacing, something Tsuna hadn’t thought was _possible_ , ‘we mustn’t disparage the man. After all, he must have had an exceptionally good reason to harass the Decimo’s Mist Guardian.”

“Oh god.” Xanxus muttered next to Tsuna. “This is how the Alliance dies. To blood and screaming. Orchestrated by my Guardian’s defending the Decimo’s.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Viðarr scolded from Tsuna’s other side, and Xanxus sighed. Tsuna heard the whispers then, ranging from ‘ _disgraceful man’_ to ‘ _unladylike’_ and various others that made him want to burn the place down because _that was his Mist they were insulting._

“Let go of me, bitch! Who the fuck do you think you are?” The man struggled, but Slaugh did not relinquish her grip. Instead, there was the sickening crack of bone, and the man let out a whimper.

“I am Slaugh, Cloud Officer of the VARIA, and Cloud Guardian to Xanxus di Varia. And I do not appreciate foul language when there are ladies present, Don Bonica. You are a Don of the Alliance, so act like one.” Slaugh was unrelenting in voice and body, and Tsuna found himself admiring her for that, in the face of the disapproving glares and snide words.

“The VARIA don’t have females, bitch.” Don Bonica sneered, and Slaugh grinned at him, teeth a little too sharp, fingernails a little too long.

“You hear that, Belphegor, Bronte? VARIA doesn’t have any females.” She laughed, and then leaned in. “I guess I filled my paperwork in wrong, then.”

“ _Ushishishishishi.”_ Belphegor laughed in response, and Tsuna felt shivers run up and down his spine at the laugh, further cemented by Bronte’s snickering, and even Viðarr’s quiet snort.

“The peasant needs to apologize to the little Mist, else the Prince shall take his tongue.” Belphegor stepped closer, red fire writhing up and down her arms. “Perhaps the Prince shall do so anyway, to teach the peasant a lesson.”

.

“No.” Tsuna surprised himself at how strong and steady his voice had come out, and he walked forward, eyes blazing. Belphegor-chan raised an eyebrow, but nodded a greeting, and stepped to the side as Tsuna approached the man.

“Don Bonica, you owe my Mist an apology. I want to hear it.”

“You don’t…”

“I do.” Tsuna snapped, the voice telling him what the man was going to say before he even opened his mouth. “Chrome Dokuro is my Mist Guardian. A member of my family. You insulted her, insinuated things that weren’t true and were highly offensive, and refused to treat her with common decency and respect. The apology, Bonica, _if you please_.” The last words were growled, and Sky Flames flooded the area, Cloud Flames bursting into life as Hibari-sempai stepped up and pushed Chrome-chan behind him, Rain, Sun and Storm flaring in support, but too far away to do anything.

“I do not answer to little brats!” Bonica retorted, crying out in pain as Slaugh twisted his broken wrist.

“But you answer to Vongola, Bonico.” Xanxus drawled. “And it is Heir Vongola making a reasonable demand. Unless, of course, you want to start a war over an _apology.”_

“It’s Bonica.” Came the hissing reply, and Xanxus shrugged, gesture conveying _‘does-it-look-like-I-care?’_ quite clearly. Tsuna could feel Nono watching him, waiting to see how he would react, and he felt inexplicably angry that he was left to fend for himself, that the old man wasn’t doing anything. At least his _father_ was busy, and therefore not here to wax poetic about his ‘ _tuna-fishy’_ , even though Tsuna would be sixteen in a few months. _Focus,_ the voice urged, _demand again, then let Chrome-chan have her way with him._ Sound advice. Excellent.

“Don Bonica,’ Tsuna began quietly, silencing the whispers at the frigid tone, ice crackling around his fingers as he activated Zero Point. “I will give you one more chance, and one chance only, to apologize to my Mist, before I make it personal. The apology, please.”

“If you want to challenge him,’ Viðarr whispered, ‘slap him across the face with your gloves. Old, traditional style. He will either accept, or look like a coward if he refuses.”

It must be a European thing, because Tsuna had never heard of such a weird way of issuing a challenge, but the advice was useful.

“I refuse.”

Dead useful. Especially since Nono and Reborn had insisted he wear the gloves tonight. Viðarr-san must have done something to them, because Lightning Flames had a Hardening aspect, and the mark he left on Don Bonica’s face was too red to have been left by the flimsy cloth gloves.

“A duel, then.” Tsuna uttered lowly, the voice providing the words, all traces of his accent gone. “I demand retribution for the insults expressed against my Mist Guardian. You may pick the time and the weapons, Bonica. I shall choose the place.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Heir Vongola.” Don Superbi murmured, and Tsuna spared him a glance, eyes a raging orange. Don Superbi swallowed, and nodded.

“Witnessed.” He announced.

“Witnessed.” Xanxus echoed, a vicious smirk crossing his face and pulling at his scars in a gruesome manner.

“Accepted.” Bonica snarled. “Name your champion.”

Tsuna smiled, mimicking Mukuro’s smile, Reborn’s smirk and Xanxus’ grin, all rolled up into one. The result must have been terrifying, because Don Bonica took a few steps back, right into the immovable Slaugh.

“Oh?” Tsuna leaned in. “What makes you think that a champion is going to take your place?”

“I am allowed to name a champion…” Tsuna laughed, interrupting him, and ramped up his killing intent, smile still in place as he shook his head.

“No, no, Bonica. I’ll be dealing with you _myself_.”

.

.

“I know it was you who told fluffy about the proper way of issuing challenges.” Xanxus murmured to Viðarr, eyes trained on the next Vongola Decimo, who was currently punching Don Bonica into the floor. “It’s not a Japanese thing. They normally try to smooth things over.”

“He insulted every women currently employed in the VARIA, as well as directing personal slurs towards Officers Belphegor and Slaugh, and the Mist Guardian.” Víðarr replied, fingers tapping against his thigh. “As Heir, he is allowed to issue challenges. If I had done so, none would have taken me seriously. If you had done so, it would have been seen as usurping Heir Vongola’s position. He would have ignored any of the female Officers, _did_ ignore them, and Don Vongola certainly wasn’t about to step in and help. This was a test, to see how Heir Vongola would handle conflict.”

“And how did he perform?” Xanxus was curious to know the Lightning’s thoughts on the subject.

“Adequately. The execution could use some work.” Viðarr gestured towards the arena as fluffy axe-kicked Bonica, causing the older man to collapse and groan in pain. Xanxus resisted the urge to laugh, and instead nodded in agreement.

“Voi, Fluffy needs more training. Reborn is good, but he needs variety.” Squalo pointed out. “If all he does is spar his Guardians and the occasional low level scum, he won’t improve. I’ve arranged with Don Superbi to bring the Rain brat over for a few days, since we can’t leave.”

“I’ll speak with Ryohei-kun.” Lussuria leaned into Xanxus, the Guardian bond swimming with emotional fatigue and a cocktail of disgust, rage, depression and confusion. Xanxus wrapped his Sun in Sky Flames, and slung an arm around Lussuria’s shoulders.

“Must I deal with the child?” Viðarr asked, voice oddly tight. “I dislike children. Immensely.”

“Voi, he’s too young. He won’t get training until he’s older.”

“I don’t want Bel anywhere near Gokudera.” Xanxus admitted to his Officers. “He’s the result of a typical mafia upbringing. Sure, Bel would slaughter him, but Storms can be…difficult.”

“I’ll see if I can kidnap the little Mist.” Mammon sighed. “They both need more control and finesse when it comes to their illusions. Alice will be sure to help out. It seems like her thing.”

“Alice is terrifying, voi.” Squalo mumbled, Yosei coming up to stand beside him. “I will never look at lamp shades the same way ever again.”

“At least it was lampshades and not the closet on the third floor.” Yosei retorted. “I ended up in the middle of a training session between Vali and Víðarr. That was _terrifying._ ”

“All we need now is a Loki, Balder and a Thor, and we can have the ‘Sons of Odin’ squad.” Viðarr deadpanned, and Bronte laughed. Behind them, Don Bonica started pleading for mercy, and the tang of blood and ammonia filled the air.

“The Sky brat peasant has finally finished.” Bel sighed. “And so much blood! The Prince approves.”

“It’s not a Vongola Ball until blood is shed.” Xanxus commented dryly, and Squalo and Bel sniggered behind their hands. “Let’s get going; I’m sick of the trash already.”

He steered Lussuria towards the exit, the Sun visibly wilted and looking highly uncomfortable, but stopped when Yosei did, the Storm halting in front of him and looking around.

“Wait a moment.” Yosei frowned. “Where’s Slaugh?”

.

.

The wavering tones of a shakuhachi echoed through Slaugh’s headphones, and unwittingly, her muscles relaxed, and she stared up at the stars, the warmth of Hibari… _Kyoya_ , pressing against her arm. The roof wasn’t the most comfortable; the tiles tended to dig into her back, and they were cold through the thin material of her dress, but it had a nice view. She could feel her Sky standing with the other Guardians below and to the right, and if she sat up she’d be able to see them. The wind was also a little cool, but after the crush of the ballroom a few moments ago, it was welcome.

Her Flames coiled around her fingers, and wisped into smoke, floating away in the night air. Beside her, Kyoya did the same, looking ridiculously pleased with himself when his flames curled into spirals before they disappeared. Slaugh let a small smile creep onto her lips, and it only widened as she felt his fingers curl around hers and squeeze gently. She knew that she’d have to leave soon, since VARIA was still grounded and no doubt Don Vongola had also imposed a curfew, but for now, she was happy to lie on the roof, under the stars, holding hands with a boy barely older than she was and listening to traditional music. Kyoya squeezed her hand again, and she closed her eyes, smile soft and subtle.

.

She squeezed back.

.

.


	19. Dread of Something After Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “…the dread of something after death…” Hamlet, William Shakespeare  
> .  
> “City of the Dead”, Eurielle

A scream echoed across the VARIA HQ, high and terrified, before a terrible keening wail started, sending shivers done the spines of any who heard it. Cloud closed ranks.

A startled yell, and the sound of vomiting awoke Rain Division, their Officer pale and shaking, clutching his chest.

A choked gasp, and a sharp flare of Flames roused Lightning from their slumber, Perun and Bronte rushing immediately to their Officer’s side as he collapsed, clawing at his throat.

The Mist trembled and hid as an intense wave of hatred rolled over their quarters, death promised in the tendrils of Flames licking around the walls.

Sun greeted the dawn with a blaze of blistering heat, rage mixed in with fear and desperation, the Medical Wing a heaving torrent of Flames, the wallpaper peeling and burning in the furnace.

.

Storm was silent.

.

The Sky was silent.

.

.

The sirens howled.

.

The hundreds of assassins in the building immediately convened in the emergency meeting hall, once the grand ballroom, capable of holding them all. Some were fully armed, others had clearly just crawled out of bed, or a shower, or a spar, judging by the hurried wrapping of bandages of the injured assassins, or a quick burst of Sun Flame. There were no questions, no demands for explanations, but there was an anxious sort of tension that blanketed the room.

The last time the sirens had howled, they had stormed the Iron Fort.

.

The first Officers to appear on the raised dais were Lussuria and Mammon, Lussuria wound tight like a spring and emitting passive Sun Flames, Mammon twitchy and making short, sharp movements with their hands, eyes glowing indigo from underneath their hood. Both were visibly shaken, but stood in their respective places in front of their Division. The next to appear was Viðarr, speaking quietly with Perun, scratches littering his throat, and hand-shaped bruises around his wrists, Bronte shadowing his footsteps and fingering her axe, before breaking off to hassle Lightning Division into formation. Viðarr was followed by a pale Squalo, who kept rubbing at his chest with a pained expression on his face, prosthetic nowhere in sight.

Slaugh came in a good ten minutes afterwards, tear tracks down their face and dressed in full armour, hair pulled back in a severe braid, Vali a silent shadow behind them. Not many missed the supportive hand the old Cloud had on Slaugh’s back, and the red-rimmed eyes that the Cloud Officer refused to hide. Cloud Division, arranged in neat rows, snapped to attention, Vali silently taking his place as Cloud Second, only relaxing when Slaugh sliced her hand through the air in dismissal.

They stood.

They waited.

.

The doors slammed open, and Xanxus stalked in, radiating both heat and Flames, jaw tight and fists clenched. Behind him, a subdued Belphegor followed, arms wrapped tight around themselves, the Storm Officer shaking, eyes hidden behind their tangled hair. Belphegor immediately sought out Mammon, bending down and whispering something into the diminutive Officer’s ears, before falling into place between Lussuria and Viðarr.

.

“Varia.” Xanxus uttered quietly, and instantly, the noise disappeared. Hundreds of silent assassins waited in anticipation for what their Boss was about to say. Xanxus was unusually grave, with a serious look on his face as he opened his mouth.

“Whomever has had visions of a future, step forward now.” He ordered. Over a hundred assassins stepped forward, most from Mist, very few from Lightning. A troubled look crossed Xanxus’ face, before it was shoved aside in favour of a scowl.

“How many of you were involved with the attack on the final Millifiore base?” All the Lightning’s raised their hands, a few for Sun, none from Rain, Cloud or Storm.

“Boss?” A Sun questioned. “Was the future true?”

“No.” Mammon answered, stepping forward. “It was a possibility. No future is set in stone.”

“But it is possible that it can happen still?” A Storm wanted to know, voiced high with distress.

“Calm yourself, peasant.” Belphegor snapped, voice oddly rough, and the Storm nodded, stepping back into formation.

“We do not currently know if anyone else has seen the future, but we can be sure that Vongola are aware.” Xanxus continued. “I want everyone on high alert. Training is to be upped to maximum. Work hard, and be prepared. _I will not lose my assassins again_.”

As one, the VARIA saluted, and shouted in agreement.

“ _Yes Boss_!”

“Officers and Squad Leaders to the main conference room. Get moving.” Xanxus ordered, leaping down from the stage to stride out the door, the Officers on his heels, squad leaders behind them. Many assassins pretended not to notice that Slaugh and Belphegor were holding hands, or that Mammon had their hands twisted into Viðarr’s hair, or that Lussuria and Squalo’s fingers would brush ever so often. They pretended not to feel the constant flaring of the Boss’s flames, and the not-so-subtle way the Sky Flames wrapped possessively around his Guardians.

They were the best assassins in the world. They knew how to keep their mouths shut.

.

.

“Mammon.” Xanxus spun around as soon as the door was closed, the others scattering to their seats, the miser Mist hopping off Viðarr’s shoulder and onto the table.

“I did not anticipate the visions.” Mammon replied, voice tight. “Nor did I wish for them to be seen. They were…not the norm.”

“Is it possible that Vongola had something to do with this?” Viðarr asked after listening to Perun speak quietly.

“They would most likely know something, voi.” Squalo stated. “The tenth generation seems to run into a stupid amount of trouble.”

“We can expect them to contact us if they did.” Slaugh spoke up. “Don Vongola will most likely come here himself if it was that important.”

“The visions were not from Vongola.” Mammon clarified. “It didn’t…feel right.”

“Is it possible that someone planted them?” Belphegor spun a knife around their fingers, frowning. “Another Mist or Esper, perhaps?” Mammon did not looked pleased at the suggestion, and their small arms folded, a chubby fist planted beneath their chin.

“It is. Only a Mist of equal strength could do it, however, or a particularly powerful Sky, or a holder of the…” Mammon trailed off, hands dropping limply to their sides. “It can’t be…it was…”

“Mammon, darling?” Lussuria leaned forward, and Mammon shook their head.

“It’s nothing.” Mammon deflected. “It’s an impossibility.”

“We seem to be dealing with a lot of those lately, voi.” Squalo grumbled. “If you know anything, speak up, Mammon.”

“It is related to the Arcobaleno Curse.” Mammon admitted. “But I would need to consult with the others in regards of sharing the information before I sell it.”

“For a small fee.” Viðarr muttered under his breath, and Slaugh snorted at that.

“Everything has a price, Viðarr.” Belphegor chided, and Viðarr rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

“What concerns me is that only a few received the visions. Should it not have been the entirety of the VARIA?” Lussuria asked, and Mammon shook their head.

“Only those directly involved, or those the attacker deemed important to the events. Anyone else wouldn’t have mattered in the grand scheme of things.”

“Could it also be that those affected are also more, I don’t know, sensitive to such things?” Viðarr questioned. Perun snarled something under his breath, earning a reproving look from his Officer.

“It is possible.” Mammon noted, and Belphegor slammed their knife into the table.

“Those thrice damned visions _don’t belong in my head._ ” They growled, and collectively, the Officers leaned back as red flickered along the knife and onto the table.

“Bel…” Slaugh began, but the Storm Officer cut the Cloud off.

“ _Shut up._ ” They snarled. “The Prince is sick of people putting things in their head that they do not want. The next person to do so will get a knife in their eyeball.”

“Fair.” Yosei conceded, placating their Officer and inching their chair away ever so slightly.

“Trash.” Xanxus growled, and everyone snapped to attention. “I said it before, but I’ll say it again. Training is to be upped to maximum. If this trash tries to burn the fucking mansions down again, I want them to get a very nasty surprise. If they attempt to kill my subordinates, I want them to fight for it. If they _try to stick their fucking hand through my Rain_ , I want them cut down before they get near us. _I will not tolerate laziness_. Viðarr!”

“Yes Boss.” Viðarr stood to attention, Perun immediately behind him.

“How is your Division progressing?”

“I can have them field ready by next week.” Viðarr replied. “Most are up to the physical fitness requirements, but lagging on languages, some on operating procedures.”

“I want them out in four days, Viðarr.” Xanxus snapped. “We can’t afford to waste time. Skip languages if you must. Dismissed.”

“Sir.” Viðarr nodded, and motioned to Perun, who shot out the door, Viðarr following close behind.

“Lussuria, how is Medical?”

“Fully stocked, boss.” Lussuria informed their Sky, completely serious. “Enough for a small invasion. We’re currently working on expanding our Flames reserves, and precision healing.”

“Keep me updated. Let me know if there are any problems.” Lussuria stood, and exited, Slaugh close on their heels with an explanation of ‘ _I have minions to whip into shape’_ tossed over their shoulder.

“I shall go inform the peasants that we are now on war footing.” Belphegor announced. “No doubt some of them will need to clean up their act.”

“Voi, I’d better go settle my Rains.” Squalo dismissed himself, sharing a long look with Xanxus. “They’re a little twitchy.”

“Be careful.” Xanxus ordered his Rain, and Squalo rolled his eyes.

“I’m always careful, shitty Boss. Voi, you’d think I was a teenager or something.”

With the last of the Officers and Squad Leaders gone, Xanxus turned to Mammon, and pinned the Mist with a sharp gaze.

“And now, Mammon, we will discuss what you didn’t want to say in front of everyone else.”

.

.

Mammon sighed, collapsing onto the small, toddler sized couch, small fingers coming up to massage their temples in an attempt to ward off the headache that had been brewing all morning. They’d forgotten how much of a skilled interrogator their Sky was; if he wanted something known, he found out, either by Mammon telling them or doing his own digging. There was very little that they could sneak past their Sky, and although sometimes Mammon liked that their Sky was observant, it was times like this that it vexed them greatly.

Their Flames churned unpleasantly, and the miser felt ill as their magic rose to fight back.

It was getting worse, they didn’t have a lot of time left now. The Curse had to be broken soon.

They groaned as the visions that they had shoved to the back of their mind, behind carefully erected shields, surged to the forefront now that they were alone. Mammon gritted their teeth, and braced for the more…distressing ones that tended to show up first. Normally it wasn’t bad, but it made their head spin and their eyes ache as smoke and sparks filled the room…

… _The VARIA mansion in flames, Xanxus standing guard over Lussuria as they tried to heal a screaming Viðarr as black lines crawled up and around his throat, Xanxus teeth bared in a snarl as his guns fired again and again, a red tainted orange emitting from his eyes_ …

.

Mammon blinked, and shook their head, waving a hand to dismiss the vision, only for another one to appear, the corridor stretching and the walls turning to an odd grey colour as…

… _a Lightning, a Sun and three Storms sprinted down an alley way, the Sun firing a pistol at the shadowy figures behind them._

_“Helios, stay close!” One of the Storms snapped, a chain wrapping around an assailants throat and snapping its neck._

_“Where the fuck is the Mist?” A second Storm growled, disintegrating a wall with a punch and leaping through it. “We’re at the extraction point, they….” The Storm disappeared in a swirling vortex, the Lightning and other two Storms diving through it without hesitation, while the Sun stepped backwards, still firing. The vortex pulsed, and Alice stepped out, eyes glowing an eerie indigo and holding a strange curved knife that reminded Mammon of deer antlers._

_“So, you’re the Nargles that murdered Jabberwock.”_

.

Mammon squeezed their eyes shut, clamping down on the initial urge to go check on Jabberwock and Alice, even though they _knew_ that the two of them were currently passed out on a couch in the common room surrounded by paper. Helios had just joined Sun; Lussuria had high hopes for the Israeli medic. But...what were these visions? Mammon had been sure that these had not been part of the initial attack, so why were they seeing them now?

They opened their eyes.

.

_Mammon looked around the bunker, taking in a ragged Lussuria, a worn out Viðarr and a half-feral Xanxus. Squalo was missing, Slaugh was missing, and Belphegor was missing. There was a map on a cracked and scorched table in front of them, one of Belphegor’s knives stabbed into it. Xanxus’ X-guns were on the table, battered and scratched, with what looked to be names carved into the handles. There were some smaller details that Mammon picked up on; Lussuria had Squalo’s old prosthetic strapped to their back, Viðarr’s jacket had a purple cloud embroidered on it, as well as the insignia for Xi Squad, Xanxus wore black feathers in his much shorter hair. There were new scars on all of them, more stress lines, and a deep, profound grief that weighed on their shoulders._

_“What do we do now?” Lussuria sounded defeated, usually cheerful tones black and dark._

_“Strike back.” Xanxus growled, fingers twitching, Wrath Flames sparking in his hands._

_“One last attack.” Viðarr pushed off from the wall, clutching his side. “Take them out in one hit.”_

_“It’s a suicide mission.” Mammon argued. “We won’t survive.”_

_“Look around!” Viðarr snapped. “We are all that’s left. We have no idea where the Decimo is, or his Guardians! What is there to live for?”_

_“Viðarr is right, Mammon.” Lussuria agreed, voice hoarse and rough. “There’s no one else left.” The Sun looked pointedly around the room. “Our assassins are scattered, underground, dead, hunted. No sign of Vongola, or even Chivarone. Byakuran and the Millefore have almost complete control over the world. Our contacts and spies are dead or missing. We can’t rely on the Vindice. This is the end.”_

_“And I’ll be damned if I don’t go out fighting the fucking trash.” Xanxus growled. He pointed to a spot on the map, near the knife. “This is their last known base. We blow it sky high. If anyone is out there, they will see it, and they will know that the VARIA did not go quietly.”_

_“In a blaze of glory.” Mammon commented dryly, and Xanxus laughed, harsh and bitter._

_“Have we done it any other way?”_

_“I’m in.” Lussuria stepped forward._

_“For our fallen comrades.” Víðarr intoned, hand gripping a small woven bracelet._

_“For Slaugh.” Mammon followed, touching a black feather sewn onto their hood._

_“For Squalo.” Lussuria choked out, face set in stone. As one, the remaining Guardians turned to face their leader, their Sky, meeting the rage-red gaze without flinching. Xanxus nodded at them, a feeling of pride, grief, determination and iron resolve pouring down the Guardian bond, before his gaze drifted to the knife stabbed in the table._

_“For Belphegor.”_

.

.

And in that instant, Mammon _knew_.

.

And it was there, at the end of all things, when Xanxus had fallen, Lussuria had fallen, the Arcobaleno were dead and _Fon Xanxus LussuriaSqualoSlaughViðarrBelphegorSkullLal_ and there was nothing left to live for, that Mammon had released the ironclad control over their magic, over their Flames, and in one last desperate moment, twisted them together, even as Bermuda stabbed them through the chest. It was a forbidden spell, one from the Black Family that Cassiopeia had created as a last resort, only to be used in the eleventh hour. It had been purely theoretical, but Mammon had willed it to work.

And it had.

They couldn’t know, they _wouldn’t_ know. Fon, Skull, Lal, Colonello, Xanxus, their fellow Guardians…

The secret would go with them to their grave.

.

Mammon would not tell them that they died to reorder time.

.

.

.

“My son.”

“Not your fucking son, Don Vongola.” Xanxus snapped, throwing himself into a chair with less finesse than usual. Belphegor cast their gaze about the room, taking in all of Don Vongola’s Guardians, the entire 10th Generation, Cavallone, Visconti, Superbi…a lot of the ‘Inner Circle’ of the Alliance. Belphegor felt a little out of place, shifting closer to Lussuria so that their fingers brushed. Lussuria gave their hand a quick squeeze, hidden behind Xanxus’ chair, and a pulse of Sun flames raced up Belphegor’s arm. Viðarr, invisible beside them, pressed their shoulders together in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but only served to highlight how tense the Lightning Guardian really was. Squalo was seated at Xanxus’ right, ankle subtly hooked around his Sky’s, while Mammon was perched on Slaugh’s shoulder, indigo eyes glaring out at everyone.

“We are gathered at the request of Heir Vongola, in light of recent events…” Don Vongola began, only to be cut off by Xanxus.

“If this is about the future thing, we know. Mammon already filled us in.” A lie, considering there had been what seemed to be _years_ of agony spread across three mere hours. Belphegor knew that they had died before some of the others (and losing Squalo first had been _agonizing_ ), so they couldn’t’ imagine how the others were dealing with their own memories.

“I was not aware Mammon was in contact with any of the tenth Generation.” Don Vongola sounded displeased, levelling a stern gaze at the small waifish girl wearing an eyepatch. The girl flinched, and Belphegor bit down a snarl that threatened to erupt from their throat.

“I am not an Arcobaleno because I batted my eyelashes at Checkerface.” Mammon snapped, drawing attention to themselves. “I am one of the World’s Strongest. I am an information broker. If I want to know something, I find out, Don Vongola.”

“So you’ve been spying on Vongola?” Coyote bristled, and a dark aura gathered around Mammon.

“Keep your friends close, and enemies’ closer, Coyote.” Mammon replied, voice sickly sweet in its childishness. Belphegor shivered, brushing against Viðarr.

“Mammon…” Lussuria began, only to be interrupted by Ganache III.

“You consider Vongola to be an enemy?”

“Vongola became an enemy the day they froze my Sky.” Mammon bit out, silencing the room with ten words.

“That’s enough, Mammon.” Xanxus ordered quietly. “Don Vongola, please explain why exactly we have been summoned.”

“There is future evidence that the VARIA were behind…”

“Spare us your drivel, Don Vongola.” Slaugh drawled. “It is a possible future, not set in stone. If you try to make things happen exactly the same way, it’s called a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“Quiet, bitch.” Coyote snapped. Slaugh countered with something in Welsh that sounded like they were cursing Coyote’s ancestors, following it up with a few well-known insults in Gaelic and a couple more in some Chinese dialect. Huh, Belphegor didn’t know that Slaugh _knew_ Chinese. Coyote took a menacing step forward, only to be stopped by a sudden flaring of Cloud Flames.

“ _Enough,_ Coyote.” Visconti growled. “I tire of your attitude. Grow up.” There was a stunned silence as all turned to look at the usually silent Cloud. Visconti stood from his seat, eyes flashing purple.

“From previous discussion, it appears that the root of the problem stems from the Vindice and the Acrobaleno. However, the details of which are not clear. And it is obvious that the Acrobaleno will not discuss the source of their curse, which means our only option is the Vindice.”

“Haven’t you, you know, tried talking to them?” Viðarr suggested, flickering back into being to pose his question. He soon started flickering as he was meet with incredulous stares.

“What?”

“One does not simply ‘talk’ to the Vindice, boy.” Don Scarlatti rumbled. “They are a law unto themselves. It is pointless to try.”

“But have you tried?” Viðarr pressed, eyes narrowed. “Or is this another ‘ _too-troublesome-to-bother-with_ ’ thing that you all discard as soon as it becomes an issue.”

“Listen, boy…” Scarlatti began heatedly, but was stopped in his tracks by Squalo speaking up.

“I agree with Officer Viðarr. We should arrange to meet with them.”

Xanxus stood up from his chair so fast that it toppled backwards with a resounding crash, the Sky facing his Rain with a panicked look on his face.

“Squalo…”

“Squalo-san, you can’t…” The Rain brat protested, earning strange looks from the older generation at his alarmed tone.

“A possible future, voi.” Squalo reminded them, and Belphegor thought that his tone was oddly gentle. “Not set in stone.”

“Squ-chan…” Lussuria began, and Belphegor stepped in.

“If Officer Superbi has no objections to the meeting,’ they began, ‘then neither should we. A possible future, remember. Not a definite vision.” It didn’t mean that they themselves wouldn’t be consulting the Oracle several times before the meeting, just to make sure.

… _hand through the Rain’s chest, blood dripping from the sharp fingers, Squalo’s face twisted into a look of horrified surprise as blood bubbled from his lips, Xanxus’ pained shout and a blur of yellow as Lussuria sped towards him…_

Belphegor clenched their fists, willing the vision to dispel from their mind. From the sudden tensing in Slaugh’s jaw, Belphegor could tell that the Cloud was attempting the same thing.

“And how do you propose we contact the Vindice? It’s not as if they have a mailing address.” Scarlatti sneered, to which Xanxus answered.

“The VARIA have many ways of communicating that Vongola doesn’t. Expect a notification from us when we get a reply.” Their Sky, in a weird moment of consideration, picked up his chair from where it had fallen, and pushed it against the table.

“Fluffy. A word.”

“ _Hai,_ Xanxus-san.” There hadn’t been a squeak, impressive. Belphegor found themselves on the receiving end of the Storm puppy brats glare (they had seen far worse), and smiled at him; leisurely, with an unspoken threat in the curve of their lip and a quick flash of teeth. The Storm puppy peasant flinched, and Belphegor turned away to smirk at Coyote, before their gaze was caught by Slaugh and the Cloud brat exchanging meaningful glances and small notes.

“Slaugh, Belphegor, Viðarr.” Xanxus ordered, Belphegor immediately falling into step behind their Sky, giving the Sky brat a nod as they walked past, ignoring Don Vongola’s attempt to get them to stay.

“Visconti. Don’t be a stranger.” Xanxus threw over his shoulder as they left, and Slaugh slammed the door behind them, glaring at the wood.

“Is Slaugh upset that she didn’t get to spend more time with her boyfriend?” Squalo teased, and Slaugh sighed.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” The lack of heat in the retort silenced Squalo, and there was a small noise from Lussuria.

“What happened?” The Thai Sun asked, slinging an arm around the Cloud.

“Nothing happened; we were never dating in the first place.” Slaugh pushed the arm off. “We’re under too much scrutiny at the moment.”

“Did he say something to you?” Belphegor wanted to know, ready to turn around and go rip out the Cloud brat’s throat for making Slaugh upset.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Slaugh shut down. “We have more important matters to focus on.”

“Slaugh is right, voi. We bluffed our way out of contacting the Vindice, however…” Squalo trailed off as they stepped outside, the gazes of the staff lingering on them for far too long to be comfortable.

“Is it just me, or are we being followed?” Viðarr murmured lowly. “We seem to be getting a lot more attention than we usually do, as well.”

“One of Vongola’s Mist’s is following us. A Storm as well.” Mammon replied casually.

“CEDEF Rain and Mist on my eight.” Lussuria added. “They must be really paranoid about this meeting.”

“Voi, I have one problem.” Squalo turned to Viðarr. “How are you planning on contacting the Vindice?” Viðarr stared at him, face blank.

“I was going to send them a letter.”

.

Squalo tripped over his feet.

.

.

_To the Leader of the Vindice_

_Vendicare Prison_

_Location Unknown_

_._

_To Whom it May Concern,_

_I, Viðarr, the Lightning Officer of the Varia, send thee greetings. In light of recent events, I am contacting you on behalf of the Head of the VARIA, Xanxus di Varia, and the Head of the Alliance, Don Vongola, in order to arrange a meeting between yourself and the aforementioned persons. The location and time are to be negotiated in order to benefit all parties involved, and to prevent any outside interference._

_If this is not agreeable in any way or form, please send your rejection in written form (for verification purposes and records), to the address supplied at the bottom of this letter._

_If you consent to this meeting, I will be your point of contact for the duration of this summit. If you have any queries, please do not hesitate to contact me._

_._

_I await your swift reply._

_._

_Regards,_

_Viðarr_

_VARIA Lightning Officer_

_(insignia of Lightning Squad, a green bolt)_

_._

.

“Voi, it’s very…formal.” Squalo stared at the neat calligraphy (and it was weird as fuck that the Lightning Officer had such neat writing, comparing it to Levi’s chicken scratch and the unintelligible scrawl from the previous Officer before that).

“I am contacting a possible hostile force who, in the possible future, showed no remorse in shoving their hand through your chest, Officer Superbi. Forgive me if I wish to be cautious.” Viðarr replied, placing the quill (a fucking _quill)_ back in its velvet lined case. Squalo stared at it, and then the small, neat signature engraved in the back of Viðarr’s hand. Signed in blood, _holy shit_ their Lightning Officer was weird. He didn’t mind some eccentricities, but signing shit in blood was a whole other level.

“You have a point, voi.” Squalo conceded, leaning on the back of Viðarr’s chair. “But how are you planning on getting the letter there?”

“Bella…Belphegor is lending me their owl. There is very little, if anything, that will prevent the Black Owls from delivering.”

“Owl.” Squalo deadpanned. “Like carrier pigeons, but owls.”

“Selectively breed and magically enhanced owls, yes.” Viðarr corrected, shaking the parchment to dry the ink, before rolling it up and sealing it with an ancient looking stamp that Squalo vaguely remembers Levi using as a paperweight. Squalo sighed, and slumped back into the comfy leather armchair that Perun usually occupied, content to sit in the peace and quiet of the Lightning Office. His Rains were being particularly difficult after they had come back from the emergency Vongola meeting, to the point of smothering him (he had ignored the comments about ‘ _mothering the Captain for once’_ ), and it was only in the sanctuary of Lightning (and wasn’t that a weird thought, after purposely avoiding Levi for years) that he could _think._

There was a knock at the door, and Squalo braced himself for one of his Rain’s to enter, but it was just Belphegor. Holding a massive bird the size of their torso.

“Bella…Bel. Thank you for lending Rigel to me.” Viðarr stood, and bowed slightly. Squalo eyed the bird, specifically the massive talons the size of his hand and the hooked beak, then the burnt orange eyes glaring at him from under bushy eyebrows.

“It was no trouble, Viðarr. Rigel was most anxious to go for a long distance flight. Hopefully, it is not too far away.”

“Will you wait for a reply, please?” Viðarr addressed the owl, and Squalo refrained from commenting, since the owl _actually nodded voi this was some spooky shit._

“Don’t maim them, Rigel.” Belphegor ordered. “This is a letter of diplomatic importance. If they try to attack, _then_ you may dismember them.” The owl hooted, and stopped glaring at Squalo, holding out a leg imperiously for Viðarr to attach the letter to.

“I will take him outside.” Belphegor tells Viðarr. “You know what he’s like with other people.”

“Then fair winds and fortuitous weather, Rigel. Be swift.” Viðarr bowed again, and Belphegor left, Squalo staring after the bird. It had been completely black. He didn’t know any sort of owl that size that had black feathers. Viðarr did say specifically bred, but if that was the type of owls they used for _postage_ …

“Would you like some tea, Officer Superbi?” Squalo considered this, thought back to the last time he had simply sat down for tea, and found himself floundering.

“Yeah.” He managed to get out. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

The last time he’d shared tea with someone for pleasure, it had been with Ottava and her Cloud Guardian, a few weeks after Xanxus had been frozen. He’d ended up crying into Donna Vongola’s shoulder then too, unable to hold himself together in the presence of a comforting Sky. Especially Donna Vongola, who had silently supported both him and his Sky in the early days of their VARIA leadership.

Viðarr pressed a cup of tea into his hands. Squalo stared at the flowery bone cups with the matching saucers, before turning his gaze to Viðarr.

“My mother’s favourite set.” Was the only explanation he got, and Squalo nodded, taking a sip and savouring the flavour of Earl Grey. There was a small jug of milk on the table, but Squalo ignored it. If it hadn’t come from his own fridge, he wasn’t drinking it. They sat in companionable silence, interspersed with the occasional ‘clink’ of bone china, and he let his thoughts drift, in a way that he wasn’t normally able to.

So, he’d been stabbed through the chest. Pleasant. His _grandmere_ was going to give him so much shit over that. Actually, come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Viðarr, Slaugh or Belphegor use any magic during the future battles. Had whomever forced them onto Mammon not know about it? Belphegor was being very tight-lipped about the whole thing, as was Slaugh, so perhaps something happened after he…died. _Fuck_ that was weird to think about. He could still feel the pressure of the hand going through his chest, felt the bones shattering, the blood bubbling up through his lips…

He shook his head, and focused on other things. Mainly, the one thing that had been bothering him since the Vongola Ball.

“Voi, Viðarr, why haven’t you Harmonized with Boss yet?”

Viðarr dropped his teacup.

Squalo stared. Viðarr stared back.

“I…What?” The Lightning spluttered, waving a hand over the cup and saucer, the pieces flying back together and settling on the low table, Squalo trying hard not to gape at the casual display of breaking physics.

“Boss likes you.” Squalo shrugged. “You get on well, have similar likes and dislikes. You’re polite, Boss is grateful for that. You have a good concept of personal space, unlike Levi. You’re efficient, intelligent and you care about your subordinates.”

“It’s hardly enough to warrant a Soul Bond, Officer Superbi!” Viðarr was visibly flustered now; a light dusting of pink highlighting the freckles across his nose.

“Why, voi?”

“There are…r..r..rules and regulations and pacts and contracts and agreements and a courting process and so much fine print and….” Viðarr trailed off as Squalo started laughing, bent double and almost spilling his tea.

“Voi, you make it sound like a marriage contract!”

“It’s as good as!” Viðarr squawked. “Magic and Flames tie an individual together tighter than _any_ sort of marriage contract the Wizarding World can create. Boss has faint traces of magic in his Flames, if we were to bond….” Viðarr turned bright red, and Squalo laughed harder, placing the teacup on the table before he clutched at his sides, howling.

“It’s not funny!” Viðarr snapped, and it probably would have been intimidating…if his voice hadn’t cracked on the end of ‘ _funny’_ , reminding Squalo, and most likely Viðarr himself, that although he was considered an adult in the mafia world now, he was still a teen. Viðarr slumped back into his armchair, visibly sulking as Squalo cried with mirth, the laugh turning a little hysterical near the end.

“Officer Superbi…” Viðarr growled when the laughter refused to abate after a few minutes.

“Voi, you’re hilarious.” Squalo shook his head. “A Guardian Bond does not equate _marrying_ Boss.”

“I think,’ Viðarr began delicately, ‘that this is an example of cultural dissonance.”

“Let me explain, voi.” Squalo turned serious, picking up his now cold tea and grimacing. Viðarr leaned across to touch the cup, and steam started to waft from the tea. Squalo decided not to question it, and took a sip, gathering his thoughts.

“A Guardian Bond is…voi, it’s everything.” Squalo sighed, tilting his head back. “Voi, it’s hard to explain. I’ve had one for most of my life. It’s…protection, assurance, a promise. It’s unwavering trust, an oath, confidence in your abilities. It’s pain and love and hope and blood and fire.” He paused, seeing the look of vague panic on Viðarr’s face.

“Look, it’s different for everyone, voi. I can’t tell you what Lussuria feels, or Mammon, but…we all agree that it feels like coming _home._ ”

“A home would be nice.” Viðarr admitted quietly, after a moment of silence had passed. “But I’m not entirely sure what one feels like.”

Voi, and didn’t that speak volumes about Viðarr’s home life before he joined VARIA.

“We all have issues, Viðarr.” Squalo sighed. “I’m probably the most well balanced one out of Boss’s Guardians…no, that would be Slaugh, now.”

“You mean that a psychopathic territorial Cloud who lost half their memories and a sword-waving shark are the sanest?” Viðarr drawled. “I shudder at the thought of what classifies as insane.”

“Voi!” Squalo protested. “What’s your issue, then? Lussuria has terrible dysphoria, Belphegor, well, you know about that shit. Mammon and the whole Arcobaleno curse thing, but there is something else that the little miser is tight-lipped about. I’m relatively normal, except I have a few family issues in regards to an argument I had with Don Superbi over my Sky. Everyone has something.”

Viðarr seemed to think about this for a moment, before refilling his teacup and taking a sip.

“I have…I believe Slaugh called it ‘daddy issues’.”

Squalo choked on his tea.

“What?”

“My father killed my mother. Belphegor has proposed that it was witnessing this act that awakened my Soul Aspect, in a desire to be hidden and avoid the same fate as my mother.”

“Voi.” Squalo breathed, because what the fuck could you say to that? Also, it was a very interesting application of Lightning Flames that Squalo hadn’t thought about before.

“Voi, is that why Lightning has been going around asking people if they can been seen?”

“I merely…encouraged them to find a different application for Lightning Flames than the usual.” Viðarr sipped his tea, but the teacup did nothing to hide the sly grin that crossed his face.

“Encouraged them?”

“Mmm.” Viðarr confirmed. “With corpse duty and a free-for-all with Cloud if they failed.”

“You little shit, voi.” Squalo laughed, draining the last of his tea and standing up. “Thanks, voi. I feel better.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Officer Superbi. Lu…Alice says that it’s important to take time to relax.”

“Make sure that you do, voi.” Squalo reminded him. “My office is open if you want to escape your shitty Lightnings. Mammon’s is too.”

“For a small fee.” Viðarr replied, sounding as though he’d heard it multiple times. “Now, go supervise your Rain’s, Superbi. No doubt they’re hysterical at your absence.”

Squalo flipped him off, and walked out the door, whistling cheerfully. Talking and having tea with Viðarr had put him in a good mood; nothing could bring him down.

.

.

.

_The Lighting Officer, Viðarr,_

_I, Bermuda von Beckenstein, do return thine greetings. It has been some time since I have received a genuine communication from the outside world, imagine my surprise when a Black Owl, one I have not seen for at least three generations, appears at my window, bearing a missive requesting a meeting._

_Myself and my second, Jaegar, agree to meet with you on the day known as the Ides of March, at the Aspromante National Park, at the hour known as 1100._

_If this is unacceptable in any way, please inform us immediately, and address your letter ‘Jaegar von Beckenstein’._

_Regards,_

_Bermuda von Beckstein_

_Leader of the Vindice_

_Head of Vendicare Prison._

_._

.

“The Vindice replied. They agree to a meeting.” Viðarr opened with at the next Officer meeting.

“When?” Xanxus demanded. Viðarr swallowed nervously.

“The Ides.” Slaugh jerked backwards, and Belphegor stood with a snarl.

“They dare…”

“Bel.” Viðarr snapped. “Sit down. The Ides is a bad Omen, yes, but what other dates do you suggest?”

“Anything but the thrice damned Ides, Viðarr.” Belphegor snarled, the rest of the Officers watching the two as if it were a tennis match.

“As the suggested date, it would look cowardly if we were to back out now, for superstitious reasons.” Viðarr volleyed.

“Better to be cowards than dead, Viðarr!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Viðarr shouted, shocking the others at the sight of the silent Lightning raising his voice in anger. “You think that I don’t know how bad that date is?”

“Do you fully comprehend the situation at all, Theo?” Belphegor screamed back. “Squalo _died!_ ”

“ _So did my goddamned mother!”_ Belphegor took a startled step back, and silence fell, thick and heavy. Viðarr stood there, chest heaving and fists clenched, and Squalo was close enough to see a small glint of tears, before Viðarr composed himself.

“The Ides of March this year has a favourable planetary alignment.” He continued, as if he hadn’t just had a screaming match with the Storm Officer. “I have consulted the Runes, and they are in agreement. Alice hasn’t Seen anything.”

“I have.” Mammon murmured, and eyes turned to the miser. “But it was not conclusive. Something, or someone, kept interfering.”

“Could it be the same person who sent you the visions, Mammon?” Lussuria wanted to know, and Mammon closed their eyes, thinking.

“It felt the same.” They conceded. “It is possible, so we shouldn’t rule it out.”

.

“Then it’s settled.” Viðarr confirmed quietly, and Xanxus nodded.

“We meet on the Ides of March.”

“And let us hope that we do not go the way of Caesar.” Belphegor uttered.

.

.

.

.

.

.

**Omake**

“Varia.” Xanxus uttered quietly, and instantly, the noise disappeared. Hundreds of silent assassins waited in anticipation for what their Boss was about to say. Xanxus was unusually grave, with a serious look on his face as he opened his mouth.

.

.

“I have sensed a great disturbance in the Force.”


	20. Go to Their Graves Like Beds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "…go to their graves like beds…" Hamlet, William Shakespeare
> 
> .
> 
> "I don't give a…" – MISSIO
> 
> .

Bel was fidgeting.

It was most unprincely, unbecoming of royalty, but Bel was fidgeting. A knife twirled around their fingers, up their arms and back down again, into their weapons pouch, out again. Repeat. Lussuria, next to them, had the eerie stillness that creeped out all of the gathered assassins; the one that spoke of instantaneous movement and poison and knifes in unsuspecting places. Squalo was murmuring softly to an unusually jittery Xanxus, who had a hand on his guns at all times. Slaugh was sitting on a rock, serene in a sinister way, the faint sound of music coming from the Cloud’s headphones as they waited, Mammon curled up with their snake at the base of the rock.

Huddled a ways from the VARIA was Vongola, noticeably split into the older generation and the 10th Generation. Hibari was imitating Slaugh, but on a different rock, while the Rain brat sharpened his sword at the Cloud brat’s feet. The Mist bunny also leaned against the rock, eye shut and appearing to be asleep. The storm puppy peasant was yapping to the fluffy bunny, who looked stressed and tired and like he’d rather be anywhere but there. Sawada, the simpering peasant, was switching between happy and depressed faster than the gossipy peasant, mumbling about tuna fish and not so adorable sons. The assassin baby peasant was there as well. Bel disliked him.

The stupid old man and his Guardians were huddled in a circle, with the exception of Visconti, who was speaking quietly with Viðarr. The elderly Cloud and the Lightning stood apart from the groups, as the chosen representatives for each side.

Below them, ice melt collected in a basin, cool and inviting. Such a pity that Bel didn’t like water after the whole Black Lake incident while they were in Hell. And then the future thing, when Slaugh had…

… _lifeless eyes, and a sharp, pained cry from the Mistling as they laid eyes on the two Clouds in the centre of a massive crater, scorch marks surrounding the two, their hands intertwined even in death. Bel stumbled down the crater wall, holding their side, the Mistling keeping pace easily._

_“Oni-san!” The mistling sobbed, even as a broken “Slaugh!” was ripped from their own throat. Bel tripped over the bodies of their enemies; Gesso Familigia by affiliation, and…that was the Gesso Mist, Torikabuto, a few metres away from the two. He was quite dead, given that his head was on the other side of the crater, and his torso was crushed to a pulp._

_Slaugh and Hibari, by contrast, were simply eerily still, with little in the way of wounds. But Bel could see the fatal ones- Hibari had a pool of blood underneath him, long since soaked into the earth, whilst Slaugh…_

_There was an explosion, and Bel tore their gaze away to focus on the origin. More specifically, the Speccheri Dam, and the gaping hole in the side of it. Alarms blared as the water surged towards them._

_Bel didn’t think about it. They wrapped their arms around the mistling, and Apparated then out of the crater just before the wave of water hit them, watching from the top of the hill as Slaugh and Hibari’s bodies were swallowed by the water…_

“Bel.” Lussuria murmured. “Focus. The Gesso Familigia have arrived.”

It was only Lussuria’s tight grip on their arms that prevented them from leaping forward towards the Gesso Mist to avenge Slaugh, towards the Gesso Lightning who killed Yosei and Molan and the mistling and _slaughtered their Division_ and _gloated_ about it and Bel hadn’t even known how their peasants had _died_ when they had lost to the Gesso Sun…

“Byakuran.” Bel snapped back to attention as Fluffy bit out that one name with all the hatred and loathing of a Sky who had lost Guardians.

“Tsuna-chan! I was so surprised when…”

“Cut the act.” Fluffy snapped. “You are only here because I invited you. It was you who started the war in the future visions, so you can damn well help us prevent them.”

Byakuran dropped the smile, and his face twisted into something…terrible.

“You’re not the only one who lost Guardians, Tsunayoshi. There are two sides to every story.”

“Do you wish to share yours in a monologue about how it was your absent father’s fault?”

Bel stared at Fluffy, impressed. Who knew that the brat had a spine under there? Or a sense of humour.

“I thought that was your line?” The marshmallow brat joked, and Fluffy snorted, amused. In the background, Sawada flailed and sobbed, moaning about his cute little tuna fish being cruel. Bel tuned him out.

“The gang’s all here, then?” The marshmallow peasant looked around, gaze lingering slightly longer on Xanxus and Mammon than strictly necessary, before turning back to Fluffy. Fluffy shook his head.

“Viðarr-san said that we’re waiting on the Vindice.” The marshmallow peasant squawked, sitting on the ground with a thump and pulling out a bag of…marshmallows. Obviously. He ripped it open, and shoved a handful into his mouth, chewing furiously. Fluffy giggled a little, and the marshmallow peasant pouted, shooting Fluffy a glare.

“Shut up!” He snapped once his mouth was empty. “I eat when I’m stressed, okay?” Fluffy looked like he was going to reply with a no doubt scathing comment, when Viðarr snapped his head around to stare at the open space between the three groups.

“They’re here.”

.

Black Flames surged into existence, the sound of clanking chains echoing through the air as four Vindice stepped through, the fifth… _a baby_? Bel looked from the assassin baby peasant, to Mammon, to the Vindice baby.

“Víðarr.” The tallest Vindice glided forward as the portal closed, coming to a halt two metres away from the Lightning Officer.

“Jaegar von Veckenschtein, I presume?” Viðarr bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person.” The Vindice appeared to be startled, but he hid it well as Viðarr continued.

“May I introduce to you Andrea Visconti, Cloud Guardian of Vongola, negotiating on behalf of the Vongola Familigia.” Visconti also bowed, wisely not offering his hand.

“An honour, von Veckenschtein.”

“The honour is mine.” Jaegar replied, his raspy voice sending shivers up Bel’s spine, and not in a pleasant way. They shifted closer to Lussuria.

“May I introduce the leader of the Vindice, Lord Bermuda von Veckenschtein?” Jaegar gestured to the baby, who hopped of the shoulder of the biggest Vindice, and glided towards them.

“An honour.” Viðarr bowed once more. “Will you be participating in the talks, Lord von Veckenschtein?”

“No. Jaegar has my full authority in this.” The high, squeaky voice freaked Bel out; it was a strange mix between intimidating and creepy, and it was so weird.

“Master von Veckenschtein, it is not our intent to start a war. Merely trying to prevent it before it happens. I trust you have received visions of the future, also?” Visconti asked, speaking up, and the baby nodded.

“I saw a future I do not wish to pass.” The Leader replied. “That is the sole reason we are attending these talks.”

“Very well.” Visconti nodded. “We shall begin.”

.

Víðarr took the fact of the baby being the leader in stride; he’d had Professor Flitwick as a teacher once, after all. But…the Vindice (though he would deny it) creeped him out. Significantly. There was something about them that reminded him of Dementors, and Dementors were never good for anyone’s peace of mind. Maybe it was the black cloaks, the weird fire, the general Sinking Feeling™ that he got whenever he’d receive their letters, or the fact that they guarded the mafia prison. Nevertheless, meeting with them was his hare-brained scheme designed to shut Don Vongola up and to ‘bring glory to the VARIA’, whatever that was supposed to mean, but it was written in permanent marker all over the walls of Lightning Division, so he supposed that it was their unofficial motto. Hopefully he was doing something right, then.

“Jaegar, I trust that you have also had the visions of the future?” Viðarr asked, wanting to make sure that Jaegar was operating on his own knowledge, and not what his boss had told him. It could get awkward otherwise.

“I have.” Jaegar murmured, casting a discrete glance towards where his leader was talking to a lean Vindice that reminded Viðarr of a wolf. “I did not…I do not want it to come true.”

“None of us do.” Viðarr murmured back quietly, the phantom ache of the future Guardian bond with Xanxus tugging at his chest. When Xanxus had fallen at the last Millefiore base, and Lussuria had gone Supernova the moment Xanxus’ heart stopped, Viðarr and Mammon had been the only two left. Mammon had been getter sicker and sicker, not long left until they died and Xanxus’ death had only made it worse, and Viðarr had lost his mind. His chest had never felt whole again, not until he woke up in his room at VARIA HQ. He remembered hunting down the Gesso Cloud and the Gesso Lightning, Mammon holding the Lightning in place as Viðarr cast the Killing Curse to banish his soul from the plane of existence, and then the Cloud had strangled him…

“Officer Viðarr.” Visconti’s voice broke into his…recollections, and Viðarr snapped back to attention.

“My apologies.” Jaegar gave him an understanding look (he think it was, he couldn’t tell under the bandages), and they turned back to look at the masses of paper and contracts Visconti pulled out of his bag.

“Don Vongola insisted on getting this agreement signed in triplicate, by the Vindice, VARIA and Vongola. He also wanted some sort of name for this alliance, however it would only happen if the Arcobaleno were in attendance with many terms and conditions applied.”

From the Cloud’s tone of voice, Visconti didn’t agree (Viðarr found himself wondering if the Vongola Sky had pissed off his Cloud with previous heavy-handed dealings, such as the one he was trying to do now), and Jaegar picked up on this.

“You do not agree with the method your Sky is using.”

“No.” Visconti agreed, looking a little smug as he set the stack of papers on fire, ignoring the outraged shout form the Vongola Storm. “I most certainly don’t. Most people seem to forget that before I was Vongola, I was VARIA. So…”

Visconti waved his hand, and a table grew up from the ground. He then pulled out a briefcase, a stack of notes and several pens. Viðarr, catching on to what the Cloud was doing, called upon his magic and conjured three armchairs, similar to the ones in the Slytherin Commons. Jaegar, not to be outdone, created a portal, stuck his hand through, and pulled out three cups and a pot of coffee.

“Right!” Visconti announced cheerfully, gracefully sinking into the armchair. “Let’s talk about the future. Starting with what the hell the Arcobaleno were thinking when they decided to have a playground battle in Vongola’s backyard.”

.

There was a list. Viðarr had created a list of things he’d wanted to discuss with Visconti and Jaegar. Surprisingly, the things on the list were also on Jaegar’s list (written on a lovely floral embossed notepad) and on Visconti’s sheaf of refill. Viðarr’s was stained with tea and blood, where he’d stabbed himself with a quill in a fit of frustration, and Jaegar’s looked as though he’d spilled coffee on it at some point, and then dried it with Night Flames (it was scorched around the edges). Visconti’s looked like he’d crumpled it a few times, or folded it over and over, but the writing was still legible.

Viðarr was glad, however, that the notes and reports he had on the future were comprehensive enough to match the accounts from Visconti and Jaegar, as well as the reports the Gesso Rain had dropped off, before scuttling back to the Gesso group. They hadn’t been invited to take part in the peace talks, simply because Viðarr wasn’t sure that he’d be able to stop himself from killing any of them. From the aborted twitches Jaegar made towards the empty sword sheath, he felt the same.

The first few issues regarding the Vindice’s involvement in the whole battles was solved by Jaegar stating that they had no desire to fight, as monitoring the prison was, in fact, a full time and very strenuous job. Visconti fixed the problem of Don Vongola declaring war on the Vindice by agreeing with Jaegar, and confirming that he’d burn the documents when they got back. Viðarr solved the VARIA problem (well, one of them anyway) by telling Visconti and Jaegar that as Lightning Officer, he would not allow his Division to engage in acts of terrorism against allied familigia’s, unless they attacked first. He couldn’t make any more promises than that, because he didn’t have the clout, and he managed assassins, not civilians. But one thing kept circling back, and it was that the Arcobaleno (specifically, the Sun, Rains, Cloud and Sky) were the ones who had started the mess in the first place.

“The fault lies within the curse.” Jaegar rumbled, less polite and strained than he had been at the start of the talks. Stress and irritation would do that to people.

“Then we break the curse.” Viðarr snapped, a little testy (and hungry, sweet Morgana he was _starving_ ). “Every curse, except those doled out by karma, can be broken. It’s that simple.”

“You are talking about a centuries old curse that had very little records.” Visconti argued. “There is next to nothing about it, and the only people who _do_ know about it are the Arcobaleno themselves, and your little Mist is extremely tight-lipped about the whole thing.”

“That’s because the price you were offering wasn’t high enough.” Viðarr rolled his eyes. “You need to start somewhere in the low millions _at least_ for information like that.”

“Why do we not just ask the Sun Arcobaleno?” Jaegar sighed.

“Because he’s an asshole.” Visconti and Viðarr replied in unison. Jaegar sighed again, and drained the rest of his coffee.

“Look, we don’t know until we try, and I’d rather try and fail spectacularly than give up before we’d even started.” Viðarr sank back into his chair, rubbing his forehead.

“Where do we even start with a curse this old?” Visconti pressed his fingers to his temples. “The actual system needs to be sustained, doesn’t it? It’s important; I remember my great-grandfather talking about it once.”

“Perhaps some kind of system to maintain the level of Flames required that doesn’t require a drain on the caster.” Jaegar mused, before his head snapped up, and he stared at a spot past Viðarr’s shoulder. Viðarr turned around, and came face to face with Fluffy.

“ _Ano…_ ” The 10th Vongola Sky stood there awkwardly, shifting under the gaze of the three delegates. “I have…found a way? But it needs the…black flames to work.”

Viðarr exchanged a short glance with Jaegar, who looked startled.

“Speak, Vongola Decimo.” Jaegar ordered.

Tsunayoshi spoke.

And Viðarr hoped that maybe, just maybe, the whole future that he’d seen would be avoided this time around.

.

.

“You look exhausted, Viðarr, honey.” Lussuria smoothed his hair away from his face, and Viðarr sighed, eyes shut tightly. He was collapsed on the couch in their hotel suite, Bel asleep across from him, Slaugh off dallying with...Hibari, he thought. Squalo was tinkering with his arm, Boss scribbling something in a notebook at the tiny table.

“Why did I have to open my big mouth?” He groaned, and Lussuria snorted.

“What do you mean, voi?” Squalo pointed a screwdriver at him. “You may have prevented a bloodbath with your scheme.”

“I didn’t know it was going to be this stressful!” Viðarr flailed his arms. “I can _feel_ the ulcer forming already!”

“There’s only room for one drama queen, Viðarr honey.” Lussuria teased. “And that’s Squalo.”

“VOI!”

“You’ve done well, Viðarr.” Xanxus rumbled from the table. “Don’t fuck it up now.”

“Thanks, Boss.” Viðarr drawled, sarcasm coating each word. “No pressure.”

He couldn’t see the Boss, but he could sense the sharp grin that was stretched across his lips. It was Hard for Viðarr to miss things, after all.

“Voi, if Fluffy’s plan works, the schematics are all good and seem to be in order…”

“The Arcobaleno Curse will be broken, yes. How quickly, I don’t know.” Viðarr sunk into the couch, Lussuria continuing to run their fingers through his hair. It felt nice. “It’s all dependant on how well the Flames take to the new system. Kids got brains, even if he doesn’t use them often.”

“Pretty sure it was the anxious Sun of his that came up with it.” Xanxus commented. “The one who was constantly clutching his stomach.”

“The Gesso brat’s mechanic?” Squalo sounded surprised. “I suppose, voi. Going by Fluffy’s school reports, he was mildly better at science than everything else. Still shit though.”

“Like your school reports were any better.” Xanxus teased his Rain, who threw the screwdriver at his Sky.

“VOI! I was top in science, literature and Physicals.”

“But the bottom in _everything_ else.” There was an innuendo in Lussuria’s voice that Viðarr didn’t want to dissect at the moment.

“VOI!”

“ _Peasants_.” Bel hissed, looking very much like a feral cat in that moment. “You are disturbing my nap. _Be silent._ ”

“Bel.” Xanxus warned. “Your report, please.” Bel sighed, sounding very put-upon, and stretched, before making their way over to Xanxus.

“From an engineer’s point of view, Squ-chan, is the system sustainable?” Lussuria wanted to know.

“Voi, I think so. Not a lot of room left for maintenance if it’s needed, though. But well thought out. Easy to understand.”

“Engineer?” Xanxus sounded surprised, and Viðarr frowned. “You finished your degree?”

There was a thick, awkward silence.

“Voi, Xanxus. I finished it three years ago.” Squalo’s tone was oddly gentle, and Viðarr bit his lip. Three years ago, Xanxus had still been on ice. He’d missed his Rain’s graduation, and from the books and files Viðarr had been cramming (and he hadn’t done so much studying since his Arithmancy WIST*), he could gather that it was important for a Sky to support their Guardians, no matter what. For an important moment in his Rain’s life, one that he’d missed…Xanxus must be feeling like shit.

“Oh.” There was a tone in Xanxus voice that immediately had Squalo sending his Flames across the room, Lussuria half a second behind.

“Xan-chan…”

“Voi, Xanxus…”

“It’s fine.” Xanxus deflected.

“It’s not, wrathful peasant, and you’re avoiding the issue.” Bel snapped. “You can’t hide things, Xanxus. Not anymore. Not from us.”

“Fine!” Xanxus snapped. “I’m sorry that I was such a shit Sky that I got my fucking ass frozen by the shitty old man and ended up missing my fucking Rain’s fucking graduation! I’m sorry that I wasn’t around to stop Bel from being kidnapped! I’m a shitty Sky and I don’t deserve anyone near me, let alone any fucking Guardians.”

“That’s Don Vongola talking.” Lussuria bit out, oddly serious.

“He’s not wrong.” Xanxus retorted.

“VOI! Shitty Boss, it was Don Vongola’s fault you missed it in the first place!”

“If I hadn’t thrown a fucking temper tantrum over fucking _adoption papers_ …”

.

“ENOUGH!” Bel shouted, and there was a ‘ _crack’_ that echoed through the room as Bel’s hand met someone’s face. Viðarr sat up, and admired the red handprint that appeared on the Boss’s stunned face.

“You do not decide for us whether you are worthy, Xanxus.” Bel spat out. “If you weren’t worth my time, I wouldn’t have bonded with you. _We_ wouldn’t have accepted the bond.”

“But if I…”

“ _Xanxus._ ” Bel stepped into the Boss’s personal space, a sharp fingernail poking him in the chest. Bel had always been tall for their age, but seeing them stand right in front of Xanxus…the Boss practically _towered_ over Bel. Xanxus looked startled, and Bel took advantage of this to push him back down into his chair.

“Shut up. We are all here because we resonated with some aspect of your personality. Squalo for your drive and ambition, Lussuria with your image and perceptions, myself for bloodlust and revenge, Slaugh for your cold calculating side, Mammon….not sure on that one. If we didn’t want to be here, standing with you, watching your back, _we wouldn’t be here.”_

Bel was going to cry. They had that particular…stiffness to their shoulders that usually indicated that they were about to cry. Which meant that whatever Xanxus had said had actually upset the Storm to a great degree.

“If I hadn’t gotten my stupid ass frozen, then…”

“Then we would still be stuck with Levi.” Bel interrupted. “Alice and Jabberwock wouldn’t have met. Lightning would still be a shit show on a good day. We would have had to watch our backs against Ottabio and Cloud. Don Vongola would still be an asshole. _Xanxus._ ” Bel leaned forward into the Boss’s personal space, placing their hands on his shoulders and looking him dead in the eye.

“ _You are ours,_ just as much as we are yours. No amount of mafia brainwashing, or teenage temper tantrums, kidnappings and memory thievery will change that.”

Shit, now both Bel _and_ Boss looked like they were going to cry.

Viðarr slunk out of the room, heading towards the small suite he shared with Slaugh and Lussuria.

He had no desire to be a part of the burgeoning cry-fest. Emotions weren’t really his thing.

Behind him, he heard a sob.

He shut the door.

.

.

The day dawned bright and beautiful.

It did not improve his mood. At all. At least the man who had made the rings that held the current system together was able to come to their little summit at such short notice, let alone craft the damn thing. Squalo, the Gesso mechanic, Fluffy and Talbot had spent the better part of the morning arguing over the schematics, with a few minor adjustments being made to the overall design in order to compensate for the delicate structure of Mist Flames that tended to screw everything up (and the mafia penchant for dramatics and _aesthetic)_. Added to that, Don Vongola was being particularly difficult that morning, and taking not-so-subtle pot-shots at Xanxus, who clearly hadn’t slept well, and Bel, who was hovering closer to their Sky than normal. Lussuria was fuming. Slaugh was strangely quiet, perched on a rock next to Hibari and the Rain brat, who was also yawning.

Jaegar, thankfully, was at least being useful, and was corralling any other comments that anyone else may have made, simply by standing there an exuding an air of disapproval and disdain for the entire thing. Viðarr yawned, and decided to hurry things up. The sooner they started, the sooner they could be done.

“This is Talbot. He has graciously agreed to craft the system that the Vongola Decimo created.” Viðarr had a splitting headache. He wanted alcohol. And a nap. But he had to do shit first, and that made him slightly sullen.

.

Who was he kidding, he was in a foul mood. His mind kept turning the scenario’s over and over again, plans made and discarded in seconds and reformed, covering every possible outcome and the contingency plans for the contingency plans, and he was _tired_. Not to mention Slaugh had gotten back early in the morning, and had proceeded to toss and turn for the remainder of the dark hours. Being in the same room as Slaugh, and Lussuria, who _snored,_ meant that he had not slept, even after his brain had exhausted itself and started reciting the 1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi essential to potion-brewing.

He was ready to commit homicide when the alarm went off, and it only got worse when Squalo started shouting at Boss for…kicking him out of the double bed they had to share (poor Bel had to sleep in the single in their room), and then Bel had burnt down the table (Slaugh had reconstructed it with a _reparo)_ and Mammon was _still missing_ ….

.

“Lightning Officer.” Jaegar greeted, before turning to Talbot and bowing in respect. “Ringsmith.”

Talbot (who was actually a Potter several times removed from a branch family that had moved to Italy, thinking about the details made his head hurt), waved a hand, pulling up the schematics that Fluffy handed to him, the Sky brat looking pale and stretched. He’d been working harder than everyone else, Viðarr excluded, and Viðarr could tell that the boy was on his last legs.

“All seems to be in order, except for…where’s the old geezer who started this?”

Viðarr was done. One hundred and twenty percent done.

“Who?” Slaugh shot him a _look_ , obviously picking up on his rapidly shortening temper.

“Checkerface.” The baby who wanted to be known as ‘Reborn’ (what a plebeian name) growled. “He gave us the rings.”

Black Flames lashed around Jaegar.

“Betrayer.” Was all he hissed, and Viðarr took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds, before exhaling heavily.

“Fuck this.” He muttered, turning to Talbot. “Is this person absolutely necessary to the proceedings, or can we continue without them?”

Talbot frowned, looking at the blueprints, and then pulling out a small notebook and flipping through a few pages.

“It would be rude not to invite him, considering that he’s been administering the system for a few centuries.” There was a fey look in Talbot’s eyes that made Viðarr instantly suspicious. And he wished that he hadn’t agreed with Visconti about the ‘no weapons’ rule. He would have been feeling a lot better with a knife in hand (he had one in his boot anyway, he wasn’t Stupid).

“Why don’t we just invite the rest of the underworld while we’re at it? Why not every major Alliance Familigia?” Viðarr was being sarcastic. He didn’t think that it would be taken seriously by Visconti, and then backed by Talbot, the old goat.

“A splendid idea!”

“It could prove to be advantageous.” Visconti nodded in agreement, and Viðarr found himself sharing a stunned gaze with Jaegar, whose expression was a mix of anger and resignation.

“I suppose…” Jaegar dragged out, and Viðarr sighed.

“If they’re not here in three hours, we’re starting without them. Visconti, you can contact them.” Viðarr waved a hand. “If the invitation came from the VARIA, they’d all think that we were going to assassinate them.”

“Considering you are the assassins that they hire…” Jaegar muttered under his breath, and Viðarr smirked at him, before smoothing his face to regard Don Vongola.

“Of course, if this is agreeable to you, Don Vongola?”

Don Vongola pretended to think it over (Viðarr couldn’t actually tell whether he was capable of independent thought, with so many people whispering in his ears), before nodding.

“It would prove to be advantageous to have the opinions of the other Dons. This does, after all, affect the mafia as a whole.”

Wow. That sounded like something out of those stupid political textbooks Lord Nott used to make him read in an attempt to ‘educate’ him. And, oddly enough, like Dumbledore’s ‘greater good’ shit he used to spout on a regular basis. Mostly when Viðarr or any other Slytherins would attempt to resolve the Gryffindor harassment issue.

“Visconti, contact them.” Viðarr was close enough to see Visconti’s brief flicker of annoyance, and the quiet mutter of ‘ _you have six other Guardians that do fuck all’_ before the Cloud bowed.

“As my Don and Sky commands.”

Yeah, Viðarr could see how the way Xanxus treated his Guardians (first among equals philosophy, similar to that of Alexander the Great and the Macedonian royalty), and even how Fluffy treated his (friends, dammit, he treated them like friends because the kid had never _had_ any before) compared to the military-like dictatorship of the previous generations (and yes, he was still mad about the Lightning brainwashing). Also, the reason why it probably rubbed the old people the wrong way. He’d seen Don Abeona slap his Sun for speaking out of turn, while Lussuria loved to break into conversations, usually to rip into someone for insulting Boss.

Who knows, maybe the breaking of the Arcobaleno Curse and the resolution of the whole future thing and avoiding war with the Vindice would make everyone more civil.

.

.

It was the worst idea that Talbot had ever had. And considering that Viðarr had managed to look at some of the other designs he came up with for this weird Flame machine, that was saying something.

“How do we know that it will work?”

“Can we trust the Lightning Officer?”

“Don Vongola, you know that my Familigia has been loyal for many, many years…”

“Don Vongola has planned it, he truly is a mastermind!”

“The bastard son dares to show his face?”

They were all _fucking children._ All trying to one-up each other and see who could curry Don Vongola’s favour the fastest, while simultaneously trampling all over the hard work of Fluffy (who was looking more and more anxious as time dragged on, only tempered by the Rain brat sleeping against him and Hibari perched above him, scowling at everyone).

It was an _exact_ mirror of when Bel had first arrived at Hogwarts.

It made him want to vomit.

And, they had been _over two hours late._ Within three hours, his ass. There was no way in the Nine Hells that he was going to wait for this obscure Checkerface guy to show, although his gut told him that the bastard who’d started this mess and _done nothing to fix it since_ would show up eventually to protest or try to interfere or some shit. At least the Arcobaleno had finally showed, Mammon using a Mist portal to show up, dragging the Lightning by his lab coat while the Cloud bounced around the Storm, excited (the Storm was smiling serenely. It was Carrow Twins level of creepy). The two Rains were bickering, and the Sun looked like he’d swallowed a sour lemon when he’d spotted them, Mammon tossing an airy ‘ _everyone should be here for this, shouldn’t they?’_ with a sickening sweet smile on their toddler face.

Don Vongola let the Dons pander to him for an hour (no doubt boosting his ego far too much), before raising his hand and silencing them.

“Thank you, gentlemen. I am very glad that…” Of fucking course Don Vongola would drone on and on. Viðarr turned his back on the old man, instead focusing on the system, running some final checks and confirming with Squalo and the Gesso mechanic that yes, the machine will be able to function, even if it included enough firepower to level Italy three times over. He kept half an eye on Bel and the Boss, murmuring softly to each other, Bel’s hair braided into a tight coil at the base of their neck. Viðarr found himself missing the dark curls, but if Bel tilts their head to the right, he can imagine what Belphegor looked like before they were kidnapped.

“Voi, Viðarr.” Squalo muttered lowly, mouth tilted away from the Dons.

“What?” Viðarr replied, equally low.

“Any particular reason Don Scarlatti is glaring at you?”

“He was the first to oppose this idea.” Viðarr smirked. “And I’ve just made him look like a fool. Not only did the Vindice agree and come to a meeting, we will also break the Arcobaleno Curse.”

Squalo frowned.

“Do you think we can, voi?” Viðarr gave him a small smile, and Squalo gaped at the rare expression.

“Fingers crossed!” Viðarr declared with false cheer, and Squalo snorted, shoulders shaking.

“Voi, that does nothing!”

“Maybe.” Viðarr shot him a sly look, and Squalo rolled his eyes, bumping shoulders.

“Voi, keep your secrets then.”

“Why thank you, good sir, I do believe I shall.” Viðarr laid on his natural accent thickly (because the first thing he did on becoming an assassin was try to get rid of distinguishing features, voice being one of them), and Squalo swatted at his head.

“VOI! We’re ready to start.” Squalo glanced at Don Vongola, and sneered. “When they’re ready, of course.”

Viðarr sighed, straightened his spine, steeled his resolve, and went to go interrupt Don Vongola’s grandstanding. He managed to catch Lussuria’s eyes, and the Sun sent them a sympathetic smile, and Viðarr grimaced in return. Ugh, he’d thought that he’d been done with politics when he’d left Hogwarts, but _no._ He just had to open his stupid mouth and graduate to a higher, more cutthroat arena, simply because someone had badmouthed _Boss._ He wasn’t even a Guardian; why did he automatically jump to the Boss’s defence? Was it because Don Stupid Mouth or Don Terrible Fashion Sense questioned his professionalism? A deep ingrained sense of debt (thanks for that, _Father_ ) because Xanxus had taken them away from Hogwarts, took care or Bel even though he didn’t need to? Or maybe (and he didn’t _really_ want to admit this to himself) it was because he was sick of being told what he could and could not do.

Contact the Vindice? He sent them a letter, and they’d responded.

Break the Arcobaleno Curse? He’d always wanted to be a curse breaker, so that when he got hired by Gringotts, he could ask for a placement as far away from England as possible. He’d studied impossible curses before- this one was relatively simple. Of sorts. It was a work in progress.

.

“Don Vongola, how can we trust that the system will work, and this is not just a ploy to slayghter us all?” Well, fuck. Don Scarlatti opened his stupid fat mouth.

“It was created by the Lightning Officer under your bastard son, after all. It could be an attempt to finish what he started six years ago.”

Oh. _Oh._ Oh no he fucking _did not._

Curse Scarlatti. Because that stupid comment set all the other Don’s off, and the headaches that had turned into a migraine, which in turn had started to fuel his homicidal tendencies to new heights. And as all the Don’s started to clamour for attention once more, and the accusations towards the integrity of the design, Viðarr felt his patience, sanity and overall fucks to give, simply…snap. Disappear. Float off into the distance. Look at them all go. Don’t they look lovely?

.

“I’m done.” Viðarr announced, and everyone fell silent. “One hundred percent done. If anyone has any fucking complaints, you can all go shove it up your…”

“Viðarr.” Xanxus rumbled, voice coming from _right beside him he needs a fucking bell…_

Viðarr took a deep breath, reigning in his temper. Slightly. When he next spoke, his voice was three shades left of ‘ _shut-the-fuck-up-or-I-will-slaughter-you’_ and two degrees right of ‘ _you-are-immature-little-shits-and-I-am-done-with-your-fuckery’_.

“None of you were in the initial planning stages.” Viðarr began, and he was gratified to see some of the Dons flinch and take a step back. “ _None_ of you helped in setting up the meetings, the negotiations, and the thrice-damned _conceptualization_ of a hypothetical system that could possibly reverse the Arcobaleno Curse. So….” Viðarr smiled at them. One fainted.

“ _None of you have the right to question my methods._ ”

There was a burst of amused Wrath Flame, and the scent of ammonia assaulted his nose. Ah. Someone had pissed themselves.

“ _Ushishishi,_ peasants. Do not cross the Lightning Officer.” Bel giggled, and Viðarr gritted his teeth as one of the Dons opened his mouth.

“ _Shut. Up.”_ He snarled, Lightning Flames crackling up and down his arms, and the Don tried to speak, only to find that the words wouldn’t come out. Huh, had he cast a _silencio_ by accident?

“Now, are there any more interruptions?” Talbot rubbed his hands together. “No? Excellent. Arcobaleno, please stand next to your corresponding jars. Vindice baby, you as well. Where’s the Gesso brat?” The marshmallow addict was hauled to the front by his Storm, and the brat pouted, before taking off his ring and placing it in the slot. It lit up, and chimed softly.

“Good!” Talbot exclaimed. “I was worried it was going to blow up!”

.

Viðarr wanted a vacation. There was a private beach belonging to the Nott’s somewhere in Greece, perhaps he would go there. Maybe the fort in northern Russia- it would be nice and cold (which meant thick socks and blankets and sloppy clothes that his father didn’t approve of and endless amounts of _tea_ ) and no unwanted visitors. Yes, Russia sounded good. Maybe he’d drag Perun along with him.

.

The machine chimed again as Fluffy placed his Sky ring in the machine, followed by the Sky Arcobaleno (who was _actually_ a kid, _that_ was fucked up).

“Now, the Arcobaleno, please place the pacifiers in the jars. Carefully, they are still glass and…”

“Talbot.” Viðarr interrupted. “Shut up. Please.” Talbot shut up. It was Hard for Talbot to Disobey (how he loved that application of his Flames).

The Arcobaleno stood around uneasily, before Mammon sighed, and the indigo pacifier was placed in the jar, the lid automatically sealing itself. The Storm baby followed almost immediately after, the Cloud baby looking unusually subdued as he too placed his pacifier in the jar. Lightning. Both the Rain’s. Night. The Sun baby looked suspicious, but cautiously placed his in as well, the lizard on his hat flicking it’s tongue out. The machine whirled a few times, and there was a weird chime, before it all fell silent.

.

“Now what?” Don Vongola demanded.

.

Viðarr’s vision exploded into white.

.

.


	21. What Dreams May Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "…what dreams may come…" Hamlet, William Shakespeare
> 
> .
> 
> "bury a friend", Billie Eilish

_“…isn’t he beautiful? My two beautiful baby boys.”_

_“…I have killed imposters before, I will not hesitate to do so again.”_

_“…hurry up and help my Dudders, girl!”_

_“…obliviate.”_

_“…you are Herr Nott’s Belladonna?”_

_“…know your place, Selaphiel! I am the first born! I will rule, not you!”_

_“…Durmstrang is run by a Death Eater.”_

_“…Potter, are you paying attention?”_

_“…you lost, little girl?”_

“… _guard my back, and walk by my side.”_

_“…obliviate.”_

_“…I’ve also applied for Mahoutokoro.”_

_“…she’s not…right in the head.”_

_“…go, my Prince, be free, and do not forget your place.”_

_“…burn!”_

_“….champion is Belladonna Potter!”_

_“…Anan, Anan is what they call me. You will be my apprentice.”_

_“…we need to get out of here.”_

_“…obliviate.”_

_“…Bel, breathe. I’m okay.”_

_“…a pleasure, Prince Belphegor.”_

_“…obliviate.”_

_“…obey your brother, Selaphiel! You are only the spare!”_

_“…vicious little thing. You’ll keep.”_

_“…please, have mercy!”_

_“…stupefy!”_

_“…obliviate.”_

_“…girl, get here now!”_

_“…put those knives away! Stupid brat!”_

_“…Potter, stay behind for detention!”_

_“…obliviate.”_

_“…a powerful Storm…too powerful…VARIA…”_

_“…Potter is a delinquent, I want you to stay away from her.”_

_“…won’t stand for it!”_

_“…your Officer, Belphegor.”_

_“…please, be more careful, Bel.”_

_“…obliviate.”_

_“…blood of the foe, forcibly taken, you shall resurrect your enemy!”_

_“…introduce the Storm Officer Belphegor, also known as Prince the Ripper.”_

_“…I’m afraid that you don’t have a choice. Obliviate.”_

_“…looking for Belphegor.”_

_“…mio piccolo tempesta.”_

_“…Selaphiel!”_

_“…Belphegor.”_

_“…Officer!”_

_“…VOI!! SHITTY PRINCE!”_

_“…Belladonna.”_

_“…Bel.”_

_“…Belphegor.”_

_“…BEL!”_

“Belphegor!” There were hands shaking them. Large, very warm, scars twisting around the fingers and travelling up the arms.

“…’xus?” Bel slurred out, head and ears ringing. The shaking stopped, and then there were hands helping them sit up.

“You alright?” There was a tone of uncharacteristic worry in their Sky’s voice, and he sounded a little dazed.

“What happened?” Bel was a little hazy on the details, except past the point that all the rings had gone into the device that Squalo had helped design, and then a flash of white…

“Viðarr!” Bel tried to stand up, only to have their legs wobble and almost give out. They would have fallen if not for the steady hand at their elbow.

“Easy, Bel.” Xanxus kept his grip on their elbow. “You’re lucky you have such a hard head, you landed badly. You might have a concussion.”

“What about the other peasants? Viðarr and the sword peasant were right next to it.” Bel demanded, forcing their legs to work.

“I haven’t checked.” Xanxus admitted. “You were closer to me. Lussuria’s gone to check on Slaugh and Alice, but Mammon…”

Mammon had been _right there_. Right next to the machine as soon as the white light had burst out in a concussive wave, along with the rest of the Arcobaleno, Viðarr, Squalo, the Vindice…

“Omnivore.” The growl came from the Hibari brat, who was walking slowly towards the humming machine, taking exaggerated care with his movements in a way that spoke of unsteadiness that wouldn’t go away. Bel chanced a look at the rock the Cloud had been sitting on, to find it completely gone, Slaugh covered with a black jacket and sporting a large bruise on the side of their head, Lussuria looked a little dazed as the Sun ran a glowing hand over the Cloud Officer. The Rain brat peasant was checking over the mistling, brow furrowed in concern, while the Storm puppy peasant was, mercifully, unconscious. Bel turned to look for Squalo, not spotting the blonde hair near the machine, and felt the beginnings of panic set in( _can’t lose Squalo, not again nononono)_ , when…

“VOOOOIIII!!!!!” Bel snapped their head around, spotting the Rain Officer…stuck in a tree. There were leaves and twigs stuck in his hair, and he was hanging awkwardly off a branch, upside down. “Shitty Prince! Shitty Boss! Help me get down!”

“I must not laugh.” Xanxus muttered next to them, lips twitching. “I must not…laugh.”

Belphegor had no such restrictions, and promptly doubled over, laughing.

“ _Ushishishi,_ the shark is stuck in a tree!”

“Voi!! Shitty prince, don’t just _stand there_!”

“Nope.” Xanxus gave into his own laughter, and Squalo shouted, cursing in multiple languages at them, face steadily growing redder and redder.

“Perhaps we should help the shark peasant down, wrathful peasant.” Bel finally managed to get out. “He might start singing elsewise.”

“I suppose.” Xanxus sighed, drew his guns (ignoring the increased volume in shouting) and shot the branch that Squalo was hanging from, the red Wrath disintegrating the branch with ease.

“VOOOOOOOOOIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!” Squalo hit a few more branches on his way down, startling some birds into flight. Bel laughed harder, leaning on their Sky to stay upright.

“Squ-chan, did you break anything?” Lussuria called from where they were examining Visconti.

“Just my pride and my Sky’s face, voi.” Squalo grumbled, making his way over to where Bel and Xanxus were laughing. “Voi! Has anyone checked on Viðarr yet? Or Mammon?”

Bel stopped laughing, straightening up.

“We were about to.”

“Viðarr was closer to it than me, voi. The Arcobaleno as well.” Xanxus headed towards the machine, Squalo and Bel on his heels.

“I don’t see him, voi.”

“He’ll be Hard to Notice.” Bel explained, legs aching. “It doesn’t ever really…turn off. Especially when he’s asleep.”

They tripped over Talbot first, Xanxus waving them on ahead as he checked the old ringsmith.

“Voi, I’ll go left, you go right.” Squalo suggested, moving away towards where Viðarr had last been.

Bel spotted Viðarr first, using his magic to get a more precise location. He was almost completely invisible, green flames drifting lazily around his body, instead of the usual hard bolts that indicated deliberate use. He had landed funny, with his shoulder wedged underneath his chest, and they would have thought it dislocated, if not for the fact that Viðarr was surprisingly bendy and his shoulders were so screwed up that they could bend that way.

“Viðarr.” Bel demanded, kneeling next to him and checking his pulse. He was alive. Good. There were no bruises that they could see, so he was just…unconscious.

“Bel! Did you find him?” Xanxus called from where he was checking on Talbot, Hibari a few feet away speaking quietly to the fluffy peasant. Bel waved in acknowledgment, thinking of how to efficiently wake Víðarr without getting punched in the face. Bel grinned as the solution came to them, and they leaned in to whisper in Viðarr’s ear.

“Officer Viðarr, Lei of Demolitions blew up VARIA HQ.”

Viðarr shot upright, groaning as all the blood rushed to his head, and listed to the side.

“Apologies, I will fix it right away, Officer Belphegor. Does Officer Mammon have a list of the costs that I may…” Viðarr trailed off, and narrowed his eyes at Bel.

“Lei doesn’t have enough explosives to blow up HQ.”

“No.” Xanxus answered, coming up to them.

“I blacked out.”

“Knocked unconscious.” Bel assured him. “Everyone was. Well…” Bel frowned. “Maybe not the Vindice. None of them are here. Not even the Arcobaleno.”

“Odd. Perhaps the unique composition of their flames enabled them to…”

“Viðarr.” Bel cut in, pulling the Lightning Officer to lean against them has he started to fall sideways. Viðarr sighed, and rested his head on Bel’s shoulder.

“Did it work?”

“Yes, you stupid Lightning. It worked.” Bel bumped their shoulders together. “Don’t move until Lussuria’s had a look at you. You were right next to the machine when it exploded.”

“Is it still in one piece? Has the curse been broken? Do I need to fix stuff? I _knew_ I should have added the runes for strength on it, but Talbot seemed to think that it wasn’t necessary…”

“Viðarr.” Xanxus rumbled from next to Bel, folding his long legs to sit on the ground. “You’re rambling.”

“But…” Viðarr made to stand, but Xanxus placed a hand on his legs to halt him.

“Stay. Or Lussuria will have both our heads.”

Bel watched in fascination as Viðarr slowly turned red, the flush starting at the tip of his ears and travelling down his neck, eyes constantly darting towards Xanxus’ hand on his knee and then back up at the Boss’s face.

“Oh.” He finally managed to get out, a startled look crossing their Sky’s face.

“Oh.” Xanxus echoed, looking dumbstruck, hand still resting on Viðarr’s knee.

“This is what Superbi meant.” Viðarr uttered quietly, almost too quietly for Bel to catch, if they hadn’t been right there. Bel poked tentatively at the bond they had with Xanxus, feeling elation, surprise and a sense of… _wholeness._

“When is the wedding, peasants? The Prince wishes to be the flower-boy.” Bel couldn’t resist teasing, if only to see Viðarr turn bright red (they didn’t think they’d ever seen that shade of red on anyone’s face before) and flail his arms about, almost smacking his new Sky in the face.

“Bel! You can’t just…just… _say_ things like that with a straight face!” Viðarr stuttered. “A Soul bond hardly warrants a marriage contract, you can’t just assume…”

“I was thinking summer.” Xanxus cut in, voice laced with amusement, ignoring his Lightning Guardian’s spluttering. “I think Viðarr would look rather fetching in a crown of alstromeria’s. Thoughts?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Viðarr snapped. “The pink would clash with my eyes and wash out my complexion. Daffodil and ivy would be far more appropriate.”

“Clearly we should add crab-apple blossoms as well.” Bel chimed in, ignoring the heated glare Viðarr sent to them.

“Crab-apple blossoms _are pink,_ Bel. Pink is not the right colour for me and… _why_ are we still talking about this?”

“Talking about what, voi?”

“Nothing!” Viðarr replied, a little too quickly.

“The wrathful peasant and Viðarr would like flowers for their hair at their wedding. Which do you recommend, sword peasant?”  
“That’s not what…”

“Dogwood for Viðarr, with ivy.” Squalo spoke over Viðarr’s protests. “Honeysuckle and laurel for Boss. It will be in summer, voi?”

“Of course it’ll be in summer. July or August preferably.”

“ _Can you please stop…”_

.

There was a flash of light, and Squalo immediately fell into a crouch, Bel passing Viðarr over to Xanxus and falling in beside Squalo, ignoring the screaming of their abused muscles and flicking two knives out.

“What is it?” Xanxus demanded as the dust cleared, blowing away to reveal a…man.

“What have you done to the system?” The man cried, face twisted into equal measures of horror and rage.

“What, peasant?” Bel demanded.

“You fools!” He spun around to face them, pointing a finger towards Squalo and Belphegor. “You’ve doomed us all! The Arcobaleno system was perfect, only requiring a few sacrifices every few decades!”

“What, voi?” Squalo growled, sunlight glinting off his sword.

“Who ruined it?! Who destroyed my most precious creation?”

“Ah.” That was Viðarr, coming to stand up next to Bel, looking very wobbly but determined. “So you are the creator of this system?”

“Indeed! Without it, the world will fall apart! The apocalypse is nigh! Was it you?” He pointed to Viðarr, glaring. “Was it you who destroyed the one thing keeping this world in balance?”

“Checkerface, I presume?” There was an odd note to Viðarr’s voice that had Bel paying attention, focusing on the way the Lightning’s hands clenched into fists, the set of their shoulders…

“Yes, that’s me brat. How dare you interfere with the mechanics? This system has been in place for hundreds of years, you can’t just…” Checkerface shouted in pain as his nose broke, Viðarr’s fist still outstretched.

“Shut up. I have a bone to pick with you, you insignificant worm.” The Lightning Officer seethed. “Starting with _why the fuck_ you made the system, and failed to maintain it to a high standard afterwards, and did not even try and bother to even _fix it._ ”

“This.” Xanxus breathed in awe, startling Lussuria and Squalo. “ _This_ is why we bonded. I’m in love.”

“The Xanðarr ship is not compatible.” Lussuria rebuked. “Honestly, the guy fixes one thing…”

“Voi, Lussuria….” Squalo nudged the Sun, still staring at Xanxus. “Didn’t the shitty Boss just say _‘bonded’_?” Lussuria paused, and Bel hid a smirk, basking in the happy flames of their Sky.

“Bonded?” Lussuria echoed, face going blank for a moment, before squealing and flinging their arms around Boss.

“Xanxus, honey, I’m so happy for you! That makes…a complete set! Not even Nono managed to attain all six Guardians!”

“I know!” Xanxus sounded positively _gleeful._ “The shitty old man can shove it! The only other Vongola to have a full set was Giotto, and now Fluffy and myself.”

“…never have I ever seen before such utter disregard for regulations….”

“He might be a while.” Bel noted. “This is his ‘you broke the rules and you did it badly’ lecture. It’s normally around two hours.”

“Voi, there’s enough material for that?” Squalo wanted to know, leaning on his Sky.

“No.” Bel grinned at them, and laughed. “ _Ushishishi,_ he makes up half of it. The other half is all legal jargon and big words. He just has the talent to make it _sound_ like it’s true.”

“That explains so much about Viðarr.” Lussuria grumbled. “I caught him lecturing his Lightning’s on proper hygiene once. It was terrifying, and I’m a _medic._ ”

“We are getting sidetracked.” Xanxus snapped, looking a little feral. “ _Where is my Mist?”_

Bel placed a restraining hand on their Sky’s wrist (and when did _they_ become the mildly level-headed one?) and sent a pulse of Storm Flames to their Sky.

“Voi, boss, I didn’t find any Arcobaleno when I was looking for Viðarr, even though the Rain’s and the Lightning were next to him when the machine activated.”

“I didn’t see them either.” Bel put in. “Maybe they were…”

“Did it work?” As one, the VARIA turned, eye falling on a rather ruffled looking man, dressed in a lab coat and glasses askew. He seemed familiar, but Bel couldn’t place him…

“Verde? The Lightning Arcobaleno?” Lussuria began, sounding unsure.

“Who else? Why is everything…smaller? Is it supposed to be smaller? Did we all die and now this is some kind of purgatory?” The Lightning continued to ramble, and Bel stifled a laugh.

“Voi, Lightnings.” Squalo grumbled, eyes flicking between the mad scientist and Lightning Officer, who was still lecturing a rather cowed Checkerface. “Crazy, the lot of them.”

“Pfft.” Slaugh snorted, awake and rubbing at a bruise on their forehead. “Like you have any room to talk. Your division is as bad as the rest.”

“Small carnivore. You are no longer small.” Hibari stated, holding his Sky up by his side. In front of him stood the Storm baby, who was definitely no longer a baby, and looked identical to Hibari.

“I see.” Fon took a tentative step forward, a brief flicker of surprise evident when he wobbled. “Most peculiar. I have been a toddler longer than I have been regular sized. I ask for your assistance in helping me regain my former balance and skill levels, Kyoya-kun.”

“Spar?” Hibari looked gleeful, then positively ecstatic when the former Arcobaleno nodded.

“Not at the moment, but definitely later.”

“I’ll hold you to that, carnivore.”

 _“Hie_.” Fluffy uttered weakly. “Reborn?”

“Here, brat.” The World’s Greatest Hitman (relative title, Xanxus was far better) was…gangly. Young. _Baby-faced_.

“You look weird.” Fluffy mumbled into his Cloud’s shoulder, and a scowl crossed the Sun Arcobaleno’s face. There was laughter, and the Cloud Arcobaleno appeared, dressed in bike leathers and looking even _younger_.

“Hear that, sempai? _You look weird.”_ The Sun shot at the Cloud, who dodged, a frown crossing his face. “Where’s Viper? Has anyone seen them? Fon?” The Cloud frowned at the Storm, who was staring at the ridge.

“Oi, dragon boy.” The Sun baby snapped. “What are you looking at?”

“I found Viper.” Fon replied faintly, still gaping.

.

Bel turned in the direction the Storm was facing, and gawped. She was gratified to note that the others did as well, because that? That was a never-before-seen sight.

.

Mammon.

.

Dancing.

.

Laughing.

.

The Miser, Mist Officer, Ex-Arcobaleno, Information Broker and the most secretive person to ever walk the planet, had thrown off the cloak that they had been wearing ever since Bel could remember, and was stood on the top of the small rise, facing the dawn. Long, lavender hair fell in gentle waves down to their waist, and bright, bubbling laughter filled the air. Bel chanced a glance at the other Arcobaleno who, while looking pleased and happy, were staring at the Mist in confusion. Then an otherworldly voice lifted in song, and Bel returned to staring at the pure, ringing notes that soared across the grassy plain they were on and echoing across the mountains.

.

_O, chì, chì mi na mòrbheanna;_

_O, chì, chì mi na còrrbheanna;_

_O, chì, chì mi na coireachan,_

_Chì mi na sgoran fo cheò_

_Fàilt' air na gorm-mheallaibh, tholmach, thulachnach;_

_Fàilt air na còrr-bheannaibh mòra, mulanach;_

_Fàilt' air na coilltean, is fàilt' air na h-uile -_

_O! 's sona bhith fuireach 'nan còir._

_._

Mammon dissolved into laughter again, and spun around in circles (proper circles, proper spotting), indigo smoke rising from her fingers and coiling in the air, the air growing clearer and the taste of magic thick on Bel’s tongue. Vines erupted from the ground, twisting towards Mammon and then around, flowers blooming beneath her feet.

“Is this some kind of Disney film?” The storm puppy peasant snorted, only to yelp as the Cloud brat hit him over the head with a tonfa.

“ _Urusai_ , or I’ll bite you to death.”

Bel chanced a glace away from the astonishing sight, darting their gaze over the Cloud brat, and the Storm Arcobaleno, who looked…lovestruck. Ugh. _Sickening._ Mammon was much more interesting, especially since the miser had turned around and darted down the slope, grabbing Slaugh’s hands and spinning the Cloud Officer in circles, the standoffish Cloud starting to grin as Mammon’s cheerful mood became infectious, Slaugh reaching out and snatching Alice’s hand as well, Mammon letting go and spinning round and round in dizzying circles until she collapsed on the grass, mindless of the stares she was getting as she continued to laugh.

“Is the Mist Arcobaleno high?” Bel heard the storm-puppy peasant ask, and resisted the urge to cut out his tongue for the perceived insult. Surprisingly, Mammon answered, without charging the usual customary fee.

“She can speak to me again! She is singing to me, mourning my absence, but oh so happy that I can hear her once more!”

“Huh?” Viðarr was being most eloquent today. Bel made a mental note to give the Lightning a gift, in order to congratulate both his standards of speech as well as the bonding between him and their Sky. Perhaps Lussuria would like to go halves on a present?

.

Surprisingly, it was Byakuran who stepped forward next, eyes wide. _Hold._ Lavender eyes, high cheekbones, similar noses…

“ _Eka-obaa-chan?”_ Byakuran choked out, hands making a grabbing motion towards her. Mammon grinned, and swooped him up in a tight hug, the Gesso Sky and ex-Mare ring holder freezing. Bel noticed with some amusement that Mammon was taller than the marshmallow peasant by a substantial amount, the marshmallow peasant’s feet almost dangling off the ground.

“ _Ran-chan!_ Oh, I’ve waited for over twenty years to be able to do this! And you too!” Mammon let go of the shell-shocked Gesso, and grabbed _Squalo_ by the shoulders, examining him, before pulling him into an embrace.

“You look so much like your grandmother did at your age, Squalo! But, you have your grandfather’s personality.”

“Voi! You’re…you...” Squalo stopped, seemingly unable to continue as his mouth continued to move, but nothing came out, until…

“VOOOIII!! YOU’RE _GRANDMERE’S_ COVEN LEADER _!!”_

.

.

_What?_

Bel stared. Coven leader. _Coven_ leader. Coven _leader._ _Magic._ Mammon was a _witch._

“Wait, I’m related to Superbi!?” The marshmallow peasant flailed about comically, eyes darting from Squalo to Mammon and then back again. “How?”

“VOI!!! Shitty marshmallow, just because she knows my…”

“You’re first cousins.” Mammon cut across, looking amused. Squalo choked on his next words, spluttering to a halt, a look of horror crossing his face, almost identical to the one on the marshmallow peasant’s.

“Voi?” Squalo managed to get out, sounding strangled.

“ _Nani?_ ” The marshmallow peasant echoed. Mammon smiled serenely at them, the expression so eerily similar to the Storm baby peasant’s that Bel had to do a double take.

“Sylvana Superbi nee Malfoy gave birth to Colette Gesso nee Malfoy and Serafino Superbi. Your parents, respectively.” There was a long, dismayed silence, before…

“VOI!!!! SHITTY COUSIN, YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!!!!”

“YOU TRIED TO KILL ME TOO, DON’T ACT AS THOUGH YOU’RE THE VICTIM HERE!!”

“VOI! IT WAS YOUR FAULT FOR STARTING THIS MESS…”

.

“Chaos.” The Sun baby-not-a-baby sounded so pleased. “Viper, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Shut up, _Renato._ ” The Cloud Arcobaleno drawled, all long limbs and piercings and purple hair. “Viper was always the most devious of us.”

“They did manage to avoid most of my testing.” The Lightning scientist commented, and Mammon scoffed at them.

“Get your hands off me! Back in our adult bodies for barely ten minutes and you’re already trying to grope me!” There was the sound of a gunshot, and a male yelp sounded over the shouting’s of the newly-discovered family.

“Ah.” The Lightning scientist pushed up his glasses, the light reflecting off them in an ominous manner. “Lal and Colonello finally join us.”

“They were always a little slower than the rest of us.” Skull agreed, and Reborn narrowed his eyes at the Cloud.

“You called me Renato.”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” The Cloud looked unusually confident, body loose-limbed in a way that spoke of security and an intimate knowledge of one’s own self.

“I doubt that yours is Skull.” The Sun baby snapped, and the Cloud smiled back, showing off _very_ white teeth, canines slightly longer than the others.

“Costin Atanas.”

“Undying.” Verde raised an eyebrow. “How fitting. Romanian?”

“Of sorts.” The Cloud shrugged. “I prefer Skull, just as you prefer Verde.”

“Reborn.” The Sun baby insisted.

“ _Renato._ ” The Lightning and the Cloud chorused, shooting each other sly grins.

“Viper, they’re ganging up on me.” The Sun baby complained. “Fon, back me up here.” Fon merely smiled at him, before turning his gaze back up to where Hibari had managed to wake the Sun brat, who in turn was now arguing with the Storm brat.

“Fon!” The Sun baby sounded put out, and Bel caught Mammon smirking at him.

“You forget, _Renato,_ that you’re the second youngest.”

“You’re only two years older! Fon!”

“Just as distance tests a horse’s strength, time can reveal a person’s heart.” Fon replied, face carefully blank.

“FON!”

“Ever with the cryptic words of wisdom, Fon.” Mammon smiled at him, and to Bel’s surprise, the Storm baby seemed to blush, looked floored at the sight of the Mist’s smile.

“ _Dushe._ ” Fon managed to get out, before he shook his head. “No, you are not Viper, correct?” Mammon smiled at him softly (actually smiled, and Bel was horrified to note that it was _fond_ ), and nodded in agreement.

“My name is Ekaterina.”

“Ekaterina.” Fon repeated, rolling his tongue around the ‘r’, and Bel noticed that Mammon was blushing. _Interesting_. “A beautiful name for a beautiful Mist.”

Hibari choked, and turned away, but Bel caught the Cloud biting their lip to keep from smiling, even as Lussuria brought out a camera and started snapping pictures. Someone made gagging noises, until a tonfa hit them in the head.

Fon seemed to have realized that he’d said the last part aloud, because a faint dusting of red scattered across his nose and the tips of his ears, matched by the brilliant red cheeks Mammon was sporting as their eyes locked.

“Umm…” Mammon stammered, eyes wide.

“Now, kiss!” The Cloud brat stage-whispered, and Mammon and the Storm baby both looked away from each other, embarrassed.

“Skull!” Mammon hissed, waving her hands. “You can’t just… _say things like that!”_

.

“Mammon! Bel!” Xanxus called, standing up and moving to collect Squalo, Viðarr at his side. “Grab Lussuria, we’re leaving. Can’t leave the crazies unattended for too long.”

“Saved by the Sky.” Verde sighed in disappointment. “Viper, will our current arrangement still stand?”

“Same time, same place.” Mammon agreed. “I _will_ see all of you there.” The unspoken _‘or else’_ hung heavy in the air, and the rest of the Arcobaleno nodded in agreement. Mammon and the Storm shared a last, lingering glance, before Bel’s Sky called them again, sounding mildly irritated.

“Let’s _go_ , Mammon. I want alcohol and a nap, not necessarily in that order.”

“I want death.” Viðarr droned, leaning heavily on his Sky. “My poor head.”

“VOI!! Shitty cousin, we’ll finish this later!”

“I look forward to it, Superbi. My branch is by far the superior one.”

“The peasants are being stupid.” Bel grumbled to Mammon. “Also, Vongola is waking up. We should leave, before our Sky has to deal with the old peasant.”

“I concur.” Mammon agreed, picking up her cloak and tossing it over her shoulders, flipping the hood up. “Lussuria! We’re leaving!”

“Right behind you, Mammon darling!” Mammon raised her hands, and drew a strange pattern in the air, a portal opening underneath her fingers.

“Fluffy, don’t be a stranger. Come for a spar sometime.”

“ _Hai_! Take care, Xanxus-san.”

Then, with a step and an insult thrown towards the now awake Don Vongola, the VARIA vanished.

.

.

They ended up in Mammon’s office, transformed into a comfy sitting room with lots of soft couches and pillows on the floor. Bel had managed to grab the sofa, curled up next to Lussuria and soaking in the warmth that the Sun constantly emitted, Squalo sitting at their feet and leaning up against Lussuria’s legs. Viðarr had grabbed an overstuffed armchair, and looked seconds away from falling asleep, while Slaugh was perched on the back of his chair.

“I am glad that the curse was broken, perhaps more so than others.” Mammon-Viper-Ekaterina sighed, running fingers through Xanxus’s hair, a small smile playing at their lips as their Sky practically purred, the Sky and the Mist sprawled on the couch opposite to them.

“Oh?” Viðarr leaned forward. “Is it because the mix of Flames and Wilde Magic was harder to control in a smaller vessel?”

“Partly.” Mammon admitted. “But also in part that if you hadn’t broken the curse, I would have died within the next few months.”

“What?!” Xanxus shot upright, staring at his Mist, eyes wide. Bel could feel the growing panic leeching through the bond as Xanxus checked that his Mist was okay, as well as the calm that permanently blanketed the Mist.

“Sit down.” Mammon chided lightly. Xanxus sat, eyes still wild with panic, and Mammon resumed stroking his hair.

“My magic…is not normal.” Mammon began slowly. “It’s wild, and still very much tied to the Earth as much as it is to my soul. Dying Will Flames are an _extension_ of your soul, your willpower. Magic and flames are not meant to coexist, in fact it’s very rare for magicals to activate them at all. Especially given the taboo around Soul Magiks, which is what the Ministry, in all its _infinite wisdom_ , has classified it as.”

There were dual snorts from Slaugh and Viðarr, and Bel withheld their own derisive laugh.

“In my case, as I grew older and more attuned to my magic, the more it grew. I could barely contain it as a teenager, because my body was still growing, but at a slower rate than my magical potential. When Flames were introduced, I was…oh, about seventeen, give or take a few months. Just past my magical majority, but still _settling_. The Flames made it that much harder, but I could manage. But then…” Mammon trailed off…and Lussuria filled in the gaps.

“You were cursed.”

“Yes.” Mammon snorted. “Cassiopeia and Sylvana had warned me to be careful, but after working with the other Arcobaleno, it was… _intoxicating_. The seven most powerful people on the planet, taking down crime syndicates that had broken mafia law. We were all young, cocky, and we paid dearly for it.”

“How old were you, voi? When you were cursed?”

“Twenty-two.” Mammon answered, a wistful smile playing around their lips. “Skull was eighteen, so he had it worst. He was barely legal, if that at all. Lal and Colonello were about…twenty-six, twenty-seven. Reborn was twenty; we’d celebrated his birthday with coffee cake the week before, when we all still got along. Fon was twenty-four.”

“So young.” Slaugh murmured.

“I’m old enough to be your grandmother, Slaugh. Actually…” Mammon paused, frowning. “I’m old enough to be everyone’s grandmother. Yes, Lussuria, even yours. Hellfire, I’m old enough to be _Sawada’s_ grandmother.” Everyone shuddered at the thought of Sawada being in the same room as them, or holding some sort of connection to Mammon. Mammon coughed, and continued their story, eyes far away.

“Skull was excited about his newest show. He wouldn’t stop talking about it for _weeks_. He’d make one of us watch while he practised; Reborn would take apart his guns and clean them, Lal would try to control her breathing and Colonello would just laugh at them and cheer. Fon had been working extra hard on conducting his flames through his hands and feet without burning himself, so we didn’t see him often, except at dinner, when the stupid false Sky made us all attend.”

“Mammon…” Squalo began, but was quickly hushed by Viðarr.

“We had been given the location by Checkerface, and we’d all set off, only to find out that it was trap. Next thing, I’m being shoved into the body of a toddler, and my magic is screaming with my Flames as they were tied together and then _shoved_ into a goddamn pacifier.” Mammon took a deep breath, and then released it, mist swirling around her. “My magic rebelled against the Curse initially, but died down soon after. It has only been recently that the attacks got worse and worse. The excessive use of the Flames only hastened the deterioration of my condition, so…”

“You ran out of time faster than you anticipated.” Xanxus finished, clutching his Mist a little tighter around the waist. Mammon allowed it, humming in agreement.

“I am eternally grateful, Viðarr, that you attempted and succeeded at what no one else was brave or intelligent enough to do.” Viðarr flushed, and sank back into his chair, flickering at the edges.

“It just needed to be done.” He mumbled.

“Take the compliment, peasant, and say thank you.” Bel rolled their eyes, Viðarr shooting them a foul look.

“Thank you, Officer Mammon.”

“Thank _you_ , Officer Viðarr.” Viðarr turned red, and hid his face behind his hands, mumbling something about embarrassing Mists and terrible friends. Bel smirked, and leaned back in their own chair, Lussuria pressing their legs together, and the feeling of their Sky covering them all with his flames lulling them to sleep.

.

.

.

.

.

.

**Omake- for SC Cloudstrife**

It was a little known fact that Belphegor had a Cloud Secondary. Once told about it, however, it became glaringly obvious. Belphegor had always been possessive of their subordinates, to the point of coming to blows over it, often with Levi trying to poach Electric Storms for his division.

The attack on VARIA HQ by the Millefiore Familigia had pushed those Cloud traits to the forefront of Belphegor’s mind. Over half of their assassins had died in the initial attack, most buying time for the Mist Squads to extract the survivors. Belphegor had left the defences to Yosei, Yosei urging her Officer to assist in evacuating Lightning because Viðarr was having difficulties by the west gate. Belphegor had left with Molan, Pyry and Ruarc, Volkan, Audra and Amihan being more than capable to support the Storm SIC, backed up by Sigma Squad.

.

VARIA fell, taking Sigma and the four loyal Storms with it. Audra had managed to escape with a Sun called Helios, dragging the unconscious Israeli medic with them to the rendezvous point, before succumbing to the collapsed lung sustained by the Gesso Rain. Audra’s sacrifice was one of the many catalysts that caused Belphegor to eventually attack a well-known base with the rest of Storm and the remains of Rain.

.

Squalo was murdered. Slaugh and Hibari (the Cloud brat proving to be just as bloodthirsty, and therefore okay to be seriously courting Slaugh) took down the Gesso Mist, but not without perishing from their own wounds. Belphegor found themselves paired up with the Mistling, dragging Rokudo’s vessel out of the remains of a Vongola base they had raided. They had been separated from their Sky, the Sun, the Mist and the Lightning.

It had only been a matter of time.

.

The final straw, as it turned out, was both the Mistling and Ruarc being murdered.

It had been Molan and a Cloud they had picked up, Tyri, who had found the bodies in an alley somewhere, the two having been missing for two days after a sabotage mission. Ruarc had been popular in Storm. The Mistling had been a gentle hand in turbulent times, often a calming influence with their secondary Rain. Rokudo was a brat, but had saved the life of everyone at least once. Their death…tipped Bel over the precipice they had been teetering on for the past few months.

.

It had been a Gesso weapons base- research, stockpile, distribution centre, all rolled in one and sitting pretty just waiting to be blown up. Bel, with Molan’s assistance, planned the attack, with layers of contingency plans in place. Lightning Lei (and the only one they had found so far, Bel hadn’t known where Viðarr was) planted the explosives, and they were off with a bang.

And, for the first time in years, Prince the Ripper did not hold back.

.

There had been screams, all the lovely screaming. Blood arced in the air, following the trail their knives made. Wires sliced and lopped of limbs, splattering their uniform in gore and bits of flesh, and the pretty red fire _burned_ , the scent of scorched flesh choking the air.

Bel was laughing.

High-pitched (a female’s laugh), eerie, sounding over the screams, the gunshots, the roar of Flames, the shouts as the Gesso men tried to prevent the inevitable. There were a handful of Clouds, the remnants of Slaugh’s division, who were next to them, one of them screaming a warcry in Old Norse, another screaming as their arm was blown off yet continuing to slice enemies with a katana. There was a flutter of a black jacket, and the Lightning brat who served the Hibari Cloud sped past, tonfa’s blurring, green flames crackling across their skin as he rushed to avenge his leader, his best friend, shaved hair sporting the symbol of the Foundation and covered in brain matter.

It was intoxicating

.

Pyry fell, choking on his own blood, the cause unknown, until Bel met eyes with the Gesso Sun from across the battlefield, eyes narrowing at the sight of the satisfied smirk crossing the green peasants face.

“Molan.” They had ordered, and Molan, ever aware of his Prince’s commands, dropped the ground shouting commands as a wire arced across the battle field, taking with it all the enemies in the way, the VARIA assassins knowing by now to drop. Belphegor stalked forward, snarl twisting their face, the vessel of the very demon they were named after, the burning warehouse creating a fiery backdrop.

“PEASANT!” Bel roared, Flames coating their knives and Black magic seething with wrath, tears in their eyes and rage in their heart.

“The Storm Officer, Belphegor of the VARIA. You’re a long way from your Sky, little Storm. Is the Prince lost?”

“The only thing that will be lost,’ Bel growled, ‘is my knife in your brain.”

“Oho?” The Gesso Sun smirked, and morphed into a lizard/man beast, Sun flames arching out into wings behind him, looking very much the twisted angel. With a twist of Potter magic, the ground solidified, and Belphegor laughed.

“ _Ushishishi, peasant. Let us see whose Flames are hotter.”_

.

It was a deadly dance, one Bel had danced numerous times before. They were drawn into its rhythm, its symphony, feet sure and strikes swift. They were vaguely aware of Molan shouting orders at the remains of Storm and Cloud and the Lightning’s, covering their back with the ease of long practise. Magic merged with Flames, Belphegor’s power and skill honed by years of fighting and hours of practise, combating the Gesso Sun’s extreme regeneration and long claws, both evenly matched and fighting hard for the upper hand.

It was glorious.

.

Until it wasn’t.

“Highness!” Molan cried, and there was a thud as his body dropped to the ground behind them. Bel screeched with rage, Black warping with Peverell to take down the attack efficiently, Bel noticing that Molan had fallen next to Pyry (they were brothers in arms, tied together with blood and death), and their sightless eyes awoke such a madness within them that Bel, injured and bleeding out and having lost their last two loyal retainers to the very madman who they were now fighting, snapped.

.

 _“Prince the Ripper has come for them.”_ _Lei whispered, the Storms around him shivering in fear as red flames coated the ground._

_“The Ice Prince.”_

_“The Bloody Prince.”_

_“The Red Prince of the North.”_

_._

The Gesso Sun was retreating, the Sun Flames unable to keep up with the flood of Black Storm Flames that slowly eroded his body and the knives and wires that slowly sliced away at limbs. He was already missing a few fingers, and his once long hair was sheared off to a very short length, along with his left ear.

“NO!” He screamed as one of Bel’s knives narrowly missed his eye. “I will not let you win! The victory will be mine!”

“Be silent, peasant.” Bel hissed, running low on energy. Their magic levels were at a critical level, and their Flames were getting weaker. As much as it pained for them to admit it, they could not continue for much longer. With a feral scream, Bel pushed the Gesso Sun back a few steps, eyes afire and magic roiling in fury, wings of Storm Flames lifting them up into the air for a fraction before their knife slammed into the Sun’s ribs, serrated edge catching on skin and causing him to scream in agony.

.

Bel paused, and watched as one by one, their Storms continued to fall to the never-ending steam of Gesso goons. Their eyes drifted across Molan and Pyry, thought of Ruarc and the Mistling and Volkan and Audra and Yosei and Squalo and Slaugh….

A bitter smile twisted their lips.

“I’m going to die.” They whispered, and they could hear the roar of a dragon and the screaming of a crowd, hear the roar of flames and the screaming of dying men.

The Gesso Sun screamed profanities at them, lunging forward, and Bel fired off a spell straight form the Black Library; the one designed to boil blood and rupture internal organs.

Their magic faltered.

And Belphegor-Belladonna-Selaphiel-Bel knew that their time was up.

“I’m going to die.” Belphegor uttered lowly. “But I swear on my magic, my flames and my crown, I will take you with me.”

“DIE!!”

“YOU FIRST!!”

Bel gathered up the last of their strength and leapt forwards, suspended in mid-air, Potter magic reshaping their knife into a glaive that speared straight through the Sun and pinned him to the ground. Belphegor landed awkwardly, the Gesso Sun coughing up blood.

“You will never kill me.” He choked out, skin already bubbling, and Bel smiled at him.

“I pity you, Deisy of the Gesso Familigia. For you will die, pinned like the insect that you are.” He snarled at them.

“Your men will die! Mine shall slaughter them in front of your very eyes!”

“But the peasants! How do the peasants die?” Bel leaned in, meeting his eyes squarely. “My men will follow me even in death. Can you say the same?”

The Gesso Sun was speechless as he finally comprehended what Bel planned to do.

“You can’t be seriously considering….”

“Lei!” Bel called, closing their eyes and gathering their power, to force of it causing the ground to crack and burn beneath their feet.

“Yes, Highness?” The Lightning replied, holding back several Gesso goons with two trench knives and looking equal parts grave and resigned.

.

“Tell my Sky that I loved him.”

.

.

.

.

_Detonation._

.

.

.

.

They died the way they had always wanted; surrounded by fire and covered in blood. Twisting their magic together, standing over the broken, bloody bodies of Molan (their most loyal retainer) and Pyry (poor, cowardly Pyry who only wanted to play with birds and read history books, forced into the life of an assassin), Bel allowed BlackChaosDeath to overwhelm their body, detonating with their Flames with the force of a nuclear bomb, taking the base and the Gesso Sun with them.

.

It had been two days before their seventeenth birthday.

.

.

_“Officer Belphegor successfully took down the Gesso arms deposit.” Lei choked out, covered in days-old blood and old burns. Kusakabe kneeling next to him in the tattered remains of a black jacket, had tears streaming down his face._

_“Where is Officer Belphegor?” Xanxus demanded, although the look in his eyes indicated that he knew already._

_“Officer Belphegor took down the Gesso Sun.” Kusakabe got out. “Chrome-chan and Ruarc were murdered six days before the attack. Pyry was killed before Belphegor faced down the Sun, Molan falling to a knife meant for Officer Belphegor.”_

_“Any other survivors?” Lussuria wanted to know, and Lei shook his head, stubbornly refusing to allow the tears to fall._

_“We…we were the only ones to survive Officer Belphegor going Supernova.”_

.

.


	22. That One May Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark"- Fallout Boy
> 
> .
> 
> .
> 
> "….that one may smile and smile…", Hamlet, William Shakespeare
> 
> .

Squalo took a sip of his tea, and sighed, slumping back into the over-stuffed armchair, his spine moulding into the cushions. The heat trailed down his throat and spread to his fingers, prosthetic resting on the side table next to him. In the chair next to him, Lussuria was sprawled along a fainting couch, arm tossed over their eyes, face make-up free and hair in a ponytail instead of the usual Mohawk. Squalo went to take another sip, and frowned when his cup was empty.

“More tea, Officer Superbi?”

“Voi, Viðarr.” Squalo sighed. “Squalo will do fine. I’m off duty.”

“Only for twenty minutes.” Lussuria mumbled.

“Shut up, voi.” Squalo groaned. “I don’t want to think about it. I finally escaped from my Rains trying to wrap me in bubble wrap and ‘ _Officer Superbi you look tired, maybe you should sleep, please don’t overwork yourself’._ ” A blue teapot floated over, tipped, and refilled Squalo’s cup. He drained it, feeling the effects of Rain-infused tea. He hadn’t realized that Víðarr knew about that trick. Although, one of his Division could have told him; he was pretty sure Bronte’s sparring partner Ulf had a Rain Secondary. 

“Has this not been the case every time you end up in my sitting room, Offi…Squalo?” Viðarr wasn’t smirking, but Squalo could hear the amusement in his voice, the smug little shit. If it weren’t for his tea…

“They’re a handful, but deep, deep, really deep down, Squalo loves his stupid, high-strung Rains as much as they love their stupid, high-strung Officer. He’s a marshmallow, really.” Lussuria butted in, ignoring Squalo’s disgruntled ‘ _voi’_.

“My Lightning’s are much the same, Squalo. They’ve been unusually well behaved recently.”

“Lightning. Well behaved.” Lussuria deadpanned, sitting upright.

“It is hard to believe. Tea?”

“Please.” A bright yellow teacup floated over to the Thai Sun, and Lussuria grabbed it out of the air, taking a delicate sip.

“Voi, how is Lightning well behaved?”

“Oh, the usual.” Viðarr frowned. “Being tidy, paying attention in the Quality lessons, applying themselves to finding new uses for Lightning Flames. I had Lei and Ulf _volunteer_ to teach two languages yesterday. Normally, I have to order them to do it.”

“And you believe this is stemming from the future thing?” Lussuria matched his frown. “Odd.”

“Voi, maybe they taught it in the future and liked do it?” Squalo shrugged. “Everyone is a little screwy in the head after that. Three of my Rains got into a fight because they all tried to use the same room in the future, but forgot that the previous tenants hadn’t actually died yet.”

“Awkward.” Was Lussuria’s comment.

“I just have one question, voi.” Squalo frowned, and sipped at his tea. “Why is your Second…?”

“Hm?” Viðarr’s hand stopped running through Perun’s hair momentarily, and the Lightning let out a disgruntled sound from where he was sprawled across Viðarr’s lap. “He wants affection, but can’t get it in front of the rest of my Division. So he comes in after we’re finished for the day to relax.”

Squalo blinked, noticing the smug smirk on Perun’s face that went unseen by Viðarr, and the mischievous glint that was in Lussuria’s eyes, and sipped his tea.

Not his division. Not his problem. Which reminded him…

“Voi, you applied for a week’s leave after the Acrobaleno thing. Where are you going?”

“Some old Nott estate in Russia.” Viðarr resumed stroking Perun’s hair, other hand gesturing at his teacup to make it float towards him. “I wanted to see if I could convert it into a safehouse for the future. It’s unplottable, so we wouldn’t have to worry about it being discovered. Unless there was a traitor in the VARIA.”

The tension in the room escalated until it as so thick it made it hard to breathe.

“Voi.” Squalo managed to choke out over the overwhelming pressure of both Lussuria’s _and_ Perun’s Flames.

“Perun. It was hypothetical. Stop tormenting the Rain Officer.” Viðarr soothed, and Perun shuddered, closing his eyes and pressing his face further into his Officer’s thigh. Oxygen became easier to access, and Squalo took a few deep breaths, trying to dampen down his escalating panic. Hard to breathe. _Hard_ to breathe. He knew that Viðarr had been teaching his Lightning’s to think outside the box, but Hard to breathe was a sure-fire way to complete and assassination without anyone being any wiser. It would make the victim simply…stop breathing. _Shitty fucking voi._ His heart couldn’t take much more of the Lightning shit show that was ‘training’. Because once Viðarr had gotten past the inbuilt suicidal conditioning? _That_ was when Squalo was retiring. For good.

“Viðarr, honey, we don’t joke about things like that. Not after Levi and his lot.” Lussuria managed to get out, taking a long sip of their special blend to calm their nerves. Squalo took a moment to figure out if the Sun Officer had bought the blend from their stores or if Viðarr had started to stock it (he had caught a glimpse of a cupboard that was far bigger on the inside, filled with teas and poisons in equal measure), then dismissed it out of hand.

“Bel once told me the only good traitor is a dead one.” Viðarr sipped at his tea, hand resuming it’s path through Perun’s hair.

“Voi, wasn’t that…” Squalo looked to Lussuria, who nodded, taking another sip and sighing.

“I miss Anan. He was Quality. Always polite whenever he ended up in the infirmary. He and Nubia got along well.”

“Anan and Nubia?” Viðarr frowned.

“Cloud Officer who dragged back Belphegor, and Nubia was my predecessor. Died on a mission.”

“Voi, you know who I miss? Fucking _Raijin_.” Lussuria growled, and the teacup cracked slightly in their grip.

“I hate Levi. Rajin was _amazing._ ”

“Who?”

Surprisingly, it was Perun who answered, lifting a hand to tug on a lock of Viðarr’s hair and saying something in an unfamiliar language. Viðarr raised an eyebrow, and replied in the same language, but with vastly different cadences. Squalo raised an eyebrow as the two continued their back and forth, Perun’s fingers now tangled in Viðarr’s hair, Viðarr’s teacup hovering in mid-air as the Lightning Officer focused his attention on the Lightning draped across his lap.

Squalo looked at Lussuria, eyebrows raised. Lussuria wiggled theirs suggestively, hiding a smirk behind their teacup. Squalo rolled his eyes, keeping his gaze towards Lussuria. As discreetly as he could, he signed a message to the Sun Officer – ‘ _If they start fucking, I’m leaving’._ Lussuria stifled a laugh, and gestured to the door, raising an eyebrow and replying ‘ _Leave anyway?’_ Squalo drained his tea, and stood.

“Voi, Viðarr, we’re leaving. Meeting tomorrow morning at ten, don’t be late.”

“I’ll be there.” Viðarr acknowledged, eyes still fixed on his subordinate as Perun continued talking, spare hand gesturing to emphasize his point. Squalo placed his teacup on the table, and left, Lussuria shutting the door behind them quietly.

.

Squalo let out an explosive sigh, a tired ‘ _voi’_ escaping him. Lussuria leant against the wall, waiting for Squalo to gather his thoughts, and wits. Future fuckery? Shitty fucking voi, if he hadn’t gone out like a little bitch at the start, he may have been more equipped to deal with this. But no, he got his chest punched out like a fucking pansy, and _merde_ his _grandmere_ would give him an earful about it if she ever found out. First things first, address the Lightning shit.

“Voi, is Perun…”

“Completely head-over-heels for his Officer? Yes.” Lussuria sighed, and draped an arm around Squalo, ignoring the half-hearted protest that he gave. “Does Viðarr notice? Probably not. Maybe he does, and returns Perun’s feelings, but who can tell with Lightnings?”

“Voi, did something happen in the weird future thing? Between them?”

“Can’t remember.” Lussuria sounded annoyed. “I remember that Perun was close to Viðarr, close enough to take an axe to the head for him, and Viðarr was never the same afterwards. Did you know that there is a curse to boil blood? And another to flay someone alive?”

“Voi.” Squalo choked out, hiding a shiver of terror. Viðarr was terrifying by being an _intelligent_ Lightning. _Upset_ Lightings were a league of their own; he hardly wanted to imagine a combination of _both._

“Did he use both, voi?”

“Among several other ones just as horrifying as those. Near the end…” Lussuria’s grip tightened around Squalo’s shoulders to the point it was almost uncomfortable.

“Voi, that bad?” Squalo murmured, mind racing.

“Worse, Squ-chan, so much worse. He was half feral by the time we stormed the final base, and he went in to that battle not expecting to come out of it.”

“None of you did.” Squalo finished. “Mammon told me as much.”

“Viðarr had already been cursed by an enemy. The black lines around his throat were slowly constricting, so he would have died within the next two months if he’d survived that battle.” Lussuria added, matter-of-factly.

“But…” Squalo.

“He told me,’ Lussuria interrupted, ‘that the magic he started to use to kill the Millefiore would eventually consume him. Turn him mad. Perun kept him sane for the most part, reminded him how to be human. Have you ever seen anyone lose their humanity, Squ-chan?” Lussuria gained a distant look in their eyes that Squalo was quickly starting to associate with people remembering the future that wasn’t going to happen. “It’s not pretty.”

“Voi, so now they’re…”

“I don’t particularly want to think about it.” The Sun Officer cut across. “Plausible deniability and all that. Personally, I’m more interested in the Slaugh/Hibari drama that seems to have cropped up all of a sudden.”

“What…”

“Officer Lussuria! Officer Superbi!” Squalo vaguely recognized the Sun running towards them, Lussuria removing their arm from his shoulders and standing up straight.

“Yes, Helios?”

“Officer Lussuria!” Helios burst out, strangely…excited? _Voi?_ “Officer Slaugh and her Hibari Cloud boyfriend are having a massive fight in the Cloud training hall! It’s epic!”

“Speaking of drama…”Squalo muttered to Lussuria, who immediately grabbed his hand and proceeded to run towards Cloud Division.

“Hurry, Squ-chan! We might miss it!”

.

.

.

The roar of the crowd rang in his ears, but as he sat next to Mammon in the ‘King’s Box’, Xanxus shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth and lounged like the Roman emperors of old. Mammon (older, old enough to be his grandmother, _what the fuck_ ) slurped at their strawberry milk and leaned against the railing, eyes on the match. Well, argument, but that was in the details.

“They’re really going for each other.” The Mist commented, tucking a stray lavender curl behind her ear. Xanxus snorted, and ate more popcorn. His Mist ( _his Mist was one of the fucking Arcobaleno, eat that Sawada)_ , now permanently adult-sized, had ceased wearing the hood of their cloak up, and adopted an overall relaxed air. Of course, that could be because they were no longer a ticking time bomb, but that was besides the point.

“They’re teenagers running on hormones and overpowered Cloud Flames.” He scoffed. “Slaugh feels slighted, Hibari is confused, and there’s a whole lot of background from the future thing that is screwing with their heads.”

“Clouds.” Mammon agreed, sneaking some popcorn from the bucket. “I have my division running the betting ring. Top three outcomes are they stop and kiss and make-up, they destroy HQ or they pummel each other into the ground.” Xanxus furrowed his brow. _Did Mammon just…_ He glanced sideways, and met the gaze of his Mist, the miser giving them a sly look. He sighed.

“I suppose the bets are for Slaugh on top?” He commented, voice dry and laced with innuendo, and Mammon burst into cackles.

“Slaugh has already beaten him once, Hibari doesn’t want to lose again. It’s a matter of pride.”

“Because heaven forbid if any of the Clouds have pride in their abilities.” Xanxus rolled his eyes and, feeling brave, stole a sip of Mammon’s strawberry milk, grimacing as the overly sweet liquid slid down his throat. Mammon huffed, and stole more popcorn.

“How do you drink this sugary shit?” Xanxus complained, reaching for the bottle of red wine on the table next to him and drinking it without bothering to pour it into a glass.

“Magic requires higher levels of sugar to be ingested by the caster.” Mammon sighed. “I don’t actually _like_ it all that much, but I’d rather drink an overly sugary milkshake than been seen stuffing my face full of cake or drink _pumpkin juice_.” The last was spat out as if it held a particularly vile taste, and Xanxus twitched, remembering a mission in America when there was pumpkin spice _everything_ , even the goddamn coffee. He hadn’t truly understood the pumpkin craze, only that everything he’d eaten had the vague taste of pumpkin or pumpkin spice, and he’d almost cried when he’d come back to Italy to drink _real_ coffee.

“Death to pumpkins.” He nodded solemnly, and took another swig of wine straight from the bottle.

“Heathen.” Mammon scolded, with little heat behind the word. “Use a glass.”

.

“That requires effort.” Squalo entered the box, and flopped down in front of Xanxus, resting his head on Xanxus’ thighs. “Voi, we have Lightning drama _and_ Cloud drama. Who’s winning?”

Xanxus turned his attention back to the match instead of further examining the new stress lines on his Rain’s face, just in time to catch Slaugh throwing Hibari through a wall. The Cloud brat snarled, and leapt out, tonfas whirling and purple flames lashing out, and he landed a turning kick to Slaugh’s ribs, the Cloud Officer sliding across the floor, rolling to avoid another kick, and sweeping the Cloud brat to the ground.

“Hard to tell.” He commented, reaching out to tangle his fingers in the long blonde strands now draped over his lap, letting his Flames seep out to cover his Rain. Squalo muttered something incomprehensible, and closed his eyes.

“Lightning drama?” Mammon queried, moving over so that Lussuria could lean next to them on the railing

“Perun has a crush on Víðarr.” Lussuria told them. “Víðarr is not…entirely indifferent to Perun’s affections.”

“Ah.” Xanxus summed up, remembering vaguely the time in the future-thing-that-gave-him-headaches when he’d walked in on Viðarr and Perun kissing. “Lightning drama. Got it.”

“Not my division.” Squalo waved his hand. “I’m not dealing with it.”

“Squalo…” Xanxus began, only to be interrupted by screaming from the stands.

“Oh dear. Slaugh landed in the middle of Storm.” Mammon commented blandly. “I suppose I should notify Belphegor that most of their subordinates won’t be able to attend training tomorrow.”

“Where is Belphegor, voi?”

“A ‘Lord Black’ and a ‘Lady Malfoy’ called on Bel this morning.” Lussuria sighed. “Bel made it clear that it would have been impolite to refuse, since apparently, Bel owes _them_ answers.”

“Bel owes them _nothing._ ” Xanxus snarled, his free hand bursting into Wrath Flames. “They’ve already taken enough to Bel, _demanded_ too much from Bel, and now they want answers?”

“It’s not those wizards.” Mammon corrected softly, still watching the fight. “Lord Black was wrongfully imprisoned on charges of murdering thirteen people. He spent most of his life in prison atoning or something he didn’t do.”

“Does it look like I care?” Xanxus snarled, Flames roiling with agitation. “He…”

“Xanxus.” Mammon cut across, voice sharp, and there was a shout from down below. Xanxus shot to his feet, Squalo not far behind. They leaned over the railing, Squalo bellowing down at the assassins to _move._

With a crack, Slaugh slammed Hibari into the floor, the Cloud brat looking stunned as the breath was knocked out of him. Slaugh’s Flames writhed and whipped at his skin, slicing thin lines of red as she pinned him to the floor and swore at him in Gaelic.

“Is Slaugh crying?” Lussuria leaned forward, eyes promising murder.

“Clear the room.” Xanxus ordered, leaping over the railing and using his Flames to soften the impact. His thigh stung, and his left knee buckled a little, reminding him that he _was_ supposed to be on bed rest after spending time as a frozen ball of flesh.

Behind him, Squalo hauled some unfortunate Rain from the ground, dosed them in Rain Flames, and pushed them towards the exit. Lussuria headed straight for where Storm had been sitting, Mammon commanding their Mists to start evacuation, and dammit, they should have done this the moment Hibari and Slaugh had started to draw blood. He himself headed towards his Cloud, hoping to mitigate some of the damage (or to flatten Hibari for making Slaugh cry, whichever came first).

.

“I did what I had to!” Slaugh screamed in English, and the hall fell silent, all movement ceasing. Slaugh herself sounded choked up, and Xanxus did not miss the quick swipe of their eyes, nor the droplets that they flicked away.

“ _And throwing yourself in front of that knife? That was unnecessary.”_ Hibari bit out a reply, Japanese short and precise.

“It was necessary to save your miserable life, Kyoya.” Slaugh snapped, leaning in closer. “A thank you would suffice.”

“ _You would have lived longer if you’d left me to die there.”_ Hibari gave up struggling, and went limp, staring up at Slaugh with something unreadable in his eyes. “ _You should have left me.”_

“I couldn’t.” Slaugh replied, applying more pressure as Hibari struggled to get free, voice dangerously low.

“ _Why?_ ” Hibari’s eyes flickered to Slaugh’s lips, then back up to her eyes. Xanxus gritted his teeth. _Hell no._

“Because whether you like it or not, you are _MINE_!” Slaugh hissed, and shit, his Cloud _was_ crying now. “And it was my fault you died!”

.

There was a thick tension that steadily grew with each passing second. Xanxus reached them, picking Slaugh up by the back of their collar like a stray cat. Hibari sucked in a breath as the pressure on his ribs and throat was alleviated, a rattling wheeze that indicated that one of his ribs was definitely broken.

“If you two are finished destroying HQ.” He commented mildly, shooting the Cloud brat a smug grin where Slaugh couldn’t see. The brat had the nerve to glare at him, but kept his mouth shut.

“Xanxus.” Slaugh hissed. “We are in the middle of something here.”

“Hibari. How did you get here?” Xanxus shook his Cloud a little, and Slaugh glared at him.

“The smiling herbivore, Usagi-chan and the omnivore snuck out with me.” The brat actually _pouted._ “The old fake carnivore refused to let us out of his sight. The puppy herbivore stayed behind. The loud herbivore had an invite to the shark’s Familigia this afternoon.”

Xanxus blinked, and looked to Slaugh for translation.

“Don Vongola wouldn’t let them out of his sight. The Sun brat was invited to the Superbi Familigia, Gokudera stayed behind. Sword brat, Chrome-chan and Fluffy escaped with Hibari.” Slaugh obliged, and Xanxus dropped her, the Cloud landing in a crouch, before lunging towards Hibari again, Cloud Flames Propagating her speed. Hibari rolled with the impact, using Slaugh’s momentum to toss her back into the stands, taking a moment to breathe before he chased after her, a snarl ripping from his throat. Xanxus sighed, and took a deep breath, reigning in his temper.

Goddamn _teenagers (_ he ignored the fact that he still, technically, was one himself).

.

The full, crushing weight of his Sky Flames filled the room within seconds, Slaugh freezing in place whilst Hibari stopped in his tracks, clutching his head and dropping to his knees.

“That’s enough.” Xanxus ordered, hating himself (how many times had the stupid old man done this to him?), but standing firm. Behind him, his Guardians pushed the minions out the door, sensing impending doom, the familiar calming wash of his Rain’s Flames dousing the more…highly strung assassins to stop them from imploding.

.

“Let’s relocate to my office, Slaugh.” Xanxus suggested, his grin not quite reaching his eyes. “A much more suitable place for a discussion such as this.” The reprimand was there, and Slaugh winced at the sharp tone.

“Sorry, Boss.” The Cloud Officer muttered, tugging at their combat suit and looking at the ground. Xanxus had to remind himself that Slaugh was a teen, didn’t know that airing dirty laundry in the Division training hall was probably not the best idea, didn’t know how to solve things by talking them through, and was running on teenage angst and hormones and Cloud Flames (never a good combination).

“Mammon.” He ordered. “Find the Mistling and Fluffy, and bring them to my office.”

If Don Vongola couldn’t be assed explaining things to the Vongola Decimo, then Xanxus would do it himself.

.

Starting with why one does not simply waltz into the VARIA HQ.

.

.

Belphegor paced whilst waiting for Lord Black and Lady Malfoy to arrive, knife twirling up their arms, around their fingers, up the other arm, back down, repeat. They had no reason to be nervous; they were with their Sky, their fellow Guardians beside them. No one could rip them apart again. They were surround by hundreds of assassins, many of which were now aware of magic and had started to train pre-emptive measures into their squad-mates. They were _safe._

So why, then, was their Black Magic roiling in agitation?

.

Perhaps it was because the man opposite her had the same uneasy feel to him, the Lady beside him cool and aloof, her own Black magic tightly contained.

“Lord Black.” Belphegor greeted, face carefully blank. “Lady Malfoy. I was not expecting you till the eleventh hour.”

Translation: why the _fuck_ are you here early, when our meeting was scheduled for 11am and not sooner?

“Belladonna Potter.” Lord Black greeted, nodding his head in their direction.

“Bel.” They corrected shortly. Belladonna was dead. The original Belphegor was dead. Only Bel remained, and Bel they would stay, regardless of what anyone else wanted (they would change for their Sky, but no one else, not even Don Vongola).

Bel gestured for Lord Black to take a seat in the two armchairs on front of their desk, the Storm Officer sitting in their own throne, crown tilted on their head, blonde riotous curls cascading over their shoulders. They would have to get a haircut soon. Bel pulsed their Flames, eyes catching the sudden stiffening of Lord Black (magic sensitivity, perhaps?) and Molan entered, carrying Bel’s favourite tea set and a small plate of biscotti (oh, the peasant had gotten the hazelnut ones, Bel would reward him later).

“Highness.” Molan bowed. “Do you require anything else?”

“No, thank you, Molan.” Bel dismissed him with a wave of their hand. “Please make sure that Volkan and Ruarc have completed their squad reports. The Prince needs them by the end of the week.”

“Highness.” Molan bowed again, and vanished through the side door.

“Tea, Lady Malfoy? The blend is one of Officer Viðarr’s; he always has the best tastes.”

“Thank you, Officer.” Lady Malfoy took the offered cup, and took a sip.

“Lord Black?”

“No, thank you, Officer Belphegor.” Lord Black shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes still fixed on their face.

There was an awkward silence. Bel ate one of the biscotti. It was good. Lord Black twitched every time Bel took a bite. Narcissa sipped her tea. Bel ate another biscotti. The silence dragged on. Bel sipped their tea.

“I trust there was an actual reason for this visit instead of wasting the Prince’s time.” Their voice was icy, and Bel barely refrained from using Mammon’s ‘ _time is money’_ line.

Lord Black took a fortifying breath.

“I believe the original missive asked for answers, but the truth is, is that I am here to provide you with answers. Starting with why you were kidnapped in the first place.”

Bel stiffened, and their hand clenched at a knife under the table.

“If this is about the prophecy…”

“The prophecy was a fake.” Lord Black cut across. Bel would have knifed the peasant for the insult, but refrained. Lord Black had valuable information, and he was going to give it to Bel for free. _Or else._

“Trelawney was a drunken, washed up Seer who only had a small gift more attuned to palmistry than actual prophecies.” Narcissa explained. “Post-Hogwarts Trelawney went out into the big wide world, and was spat on by people who didn’t believe. Her family knew she had the gift, but others didn’t. By the time Dumbledore had found her, she was a depressed alcoholic doing small readings in bars and pubs. Dumbledore, however, knew that he could make Trelawney _seem_ like a Prophetess, and used a highly illegal spell to induce ‘fits’ of fake prophecy and amnesia. He then used the fake prophecy to trick the Potters to go into hiding and bolster his own agenda.”

“Then they were betrayed.” Bel stated.

“Peter Pettigrew.” Lord Black began, voice bitter. “He wasn’t the brightest, the bravest nor the best-looking, but he could get in and out of places just like the rat he was. We just didn’t realize that _he_ was the spy that was planted in the Order to rat out our secrets, as it were, to Lord Voldemort. Worst of all, we all thought that he was our _friend_. Then before I knew it, James, Lily and Harry were dead and I was being thrown into prison.”

“The next few years were crucial for Dumbledore.” Narcissa continued smoothly. “He, of course, didn’t let the Wizarding World know that Harry Potter had died. He had Hagrid the Groundskeeper remove the body from the crime scene before the Aurors arrived, and kept it in stasis, simultaneously announcing the miraculous survival of the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ and the ‘death’ of Voldemort. Most of the Dark Lords followers were captured or kept their heads down. The Light Faction ruled without fear, knowing that their ‘saviour’ was off training or in a secret location or whatever.”

“And then he kidnapped me.” Bel raised an eyebrow. “Bit of a stretch to go from boy to girl?”

“Blanket spell.” Lord Black gritted his teeth. “Mind Magics. Highly illegal to tamper with the publics memories, but he cast it on a print of the _Prophet_ , which everyone gets.”

“Smart.” Was Bel’s only comment.

“Indeed.” Narcissa agreed. “Only the Goblins and Lord Black knew about it. Sirius, because he was Harry Potter’s godfather, and the Goblins…have their own magic.”

“That’s how you knew I was a fake?” Bel leaned forward, interested. Lord Black nodded.

“The Godparent Oath is one of the oldest magical oaths in existence, even older than the Unbreakable Vow. You essentially swear on your life and magic to protect the child to the best of your ability. The moment Harry Potter died, the bond broke. When I heard that ‘Belladonna Potter’ had started Hogwarts, I knew something was wrong. James was an only child, the Potter Family had been decimated in the last war against Grindlewald…there simply were no more Potters, bar a branch Family in Poland that had moved over there in the 1700’s. There was no one else, unless Dumbledore had used an orphan and somehow made the public believe that the child he had chosen was the saviour.”

“You’ve thought a lot about this.” Bel commented, snagging another biscotti. Molan could growl at them later.

“Being thrown in prison for twelve years tends to put things in perspective.” Lord Black commented wryly, raising an eyebrow. “One of which being that the life choices I make as a teen can have detrimental effects in the long run.”

“You had lost your best friend.” Bel commented. “His wife, and your godson. A man you thought was a friend was a traitor. Any man would not make rational decisions following that.”

“Perhaps.” Lord Black sighed. “But perhaps I was foolish to not make sure I was around to keep an eye on things. If I hadn’t been in prison, Dumbledore’s machinations would have come to light that much sooner. You most likely wouldn’t have been kidnapped and turned into a poster girl…child, for an outdated regime. And for that, I apologize.”

“Sirius…” Narcissa hissed, and Lord Black held up a hand.

“Not now, Narcissa. Belphegor deserves an apology.”

Bel sat there, stupefied.

“You would apologize to Their Highness, for things that you did not do.” Bel narrowed their eyes. “What do you wish to gain from this? A political marriage piece?”

“An Heir.” Lord Black replied, draining his teacup as silence reigned.

“What.” Bel stated flatly.

“Draco is…Heir Malfoy. His magic is not compatible with Black Magiks. Yet, you’ve been wielding them as well as, if not better, than any true-born Black.” Lord Black explained, deadly serious. “I, and yourself, are the last to have the ability to do so. And as much as I would love to see this wretched family fall into obscurity, a balance must be maintained.”

“A balance.” Bel echoed, eyes narrowed.

“The Light Faction in the Wizengamot currently outweighs the Dark and Neutral combined.” Narcissa continued, looking pained. “The Light, even without Dumbledore leading them, is now filled with anti-Dark fascists who continue to push his agenda. Even with the Neutrals backing the Dark, it is only a matter of time before the prosecution of Dark Magiks begins.”

“And this is the Prince’s problem how?” Bel raised an eyebrow, thankful that their desk could hide the tight grip they had on the armrest of their chair.

“As Heiress…Heir, of House Potter and Peverell, it is your duty…”

“ _Do not speak to me of duty._ ” Bel hissed, stabbing a knife into their desk and leaning forward, red flicking around their arms. Lord Black jerked back, Narcissa dropped her teacup. The scent of chamomile and lavender filled the air, and Bel grit their teeth.

“I am finished with the Magical World, Lord Black.” Bel began, slowly sinking back into their chair. “Even if they believe that they are not finished with me. I will not return to be a figurehead, a posterchild, a _wife._ ” Bel spat out the last word, hand crumpling the latest marriage proposal that had the misfortune to grace their desk. Lord Black opened his mouth, but Bel held up a hand.

“I am an assassin, Lord Black. I am an Officer. I have a duty to _my_ people, not yours. I have already failed them once.”

“Failed?” Narcissa twisted her wand, and the teacup pulled itself back together.

“Eight years is a long time without a proper Officer, Lady Malfoy.” Bel stated sharply. “As good as my Second is, she is not Officer Material. My Sky was trapped in a block of ice for six years because of my _failures_. My fellow Guardians were left to keep the VARIA alive and functional between the three of them because _I got kidnapped and turned into a girl._ ”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and Bel took a deep breath.

“No, Lord Black.” They continued quietly. “I will not return to a place that only holds pain and expects me to sire dozens of children, because they dictate it to be so. I am my own person, and I am sworn to my Sky.”

“I understand.” Lord Black after a while, rising from his seat and bowing. “Thank you for your time, Officer Belphegor. Narcissa.”

Bel stood when Narcissa did, eyes still narrowed as Lord Black opened his mouth once more.

“I will not ask you to reconsider your position, but know that the Black Magiks are ours to wield, and that in the event of my untimely death, you will inherit my entire estate to use at your disposal. You may also use the overseas properties as you wish.”

“I…” Bel started, but Narcissa cut across.

“Remember, Officer Belphegor, you are welcome to visit at any time. Take care.”

“Wait!” Bel called, feeling very foolish as Lord Black and Narcissa paused, looking at them expectantly. Perhaps it was foolish, what they were about to offer, but the Black magic was swirling around, feeling…disappointed. It wasn’t a nice feeling. Lord Black was somewhat decent, for a wizard peasant, and had not _outright_ harmed them, and add to the fact that he had just _given_ Bel the overseas properties (they were numerous, Bel knew, and all Unplottable) and _his entire estate if he died._ Bel knew the Heir Black duties, knew how much funding the VARIA went through a year, knew how much the Black estate was _worth._ It only stood to reason that they would offer something in return.

“If you…are ever in need of enemy disposal, I may be able to negotiate a….family discount, as it were.” Bel offered awkwardly. Lord Black threw back his head and laughed, loud and sharp, and Bel could feel the Black Magiks dance and twist playfully around him and…. _oh._

“ _My most cherished childe_.” Lord Black replied, voice suddenly layered with a female’s, eyes glowing an eerie silver. “ _May the Fates smile on you, and may the blood of your enemies flow like wine.”_

“Do you really think, Officer Belphegor,’ Lord Black continued, a maniac smile on his face, ‘that I wouldn’t get my own hands dirty?”

And yes, Bel could now understand why so many people thought nothing of it when Sirius Black was thrown in prison, for supposedly murdering the Potters. The sharp grin showing too many teeth, the wild air, the Black Magiks pressing down on the room, and the slightly unhinged look in his eyes.

“No Lord Black.” Bel replied, a smile twisting their own lips. They pretended not to notice Narcissa hiding her own behind a teacup.

“Till we meet again, Officer Belphegor.” Lord Black gave a respectful nod, and offered his arm to his cousin. “The Black Magiks have chosen well. I mean no offense, but I am glad things worked out the way they did.”

“Oh?”

Lord Black’s face twisted into an expression of glee.

“With you wielding the Black Magiks, the Wizengamot can’t press me to marry and continue the line. They also will not bother you, without fear of losing House Black. A win-win situation.”

Bel laughed, and Yosei appeared to guide the two magicals out the door.

“Till we meet again, Lord Black.”

The door shut, and Bel slumped back into their seat, wriggling with glee. A relative who was almost as bloodthirsty as they were, and weren’t afraid of killing opposition? That was someone Bel could stand to be related to.

.

There was hope for the peasants yet.

.

. 

.

_Dear Mx Bel de Varia,_

_._

_The Italian School of Mystic Arts and Sorcery are more than happy to assist you in your learning, regardless of whether you are employed or not. The ISMAS offers correspondence courses for all subjects, bar Potions (for obvious safety reasons), however, you are more than welcome to attend the night classes tailored specifically for adults._

_While the courses you have selected may indicate a much heavier workload than the faculty are comfortable assigning, your previous marks from both your Bacculerate, A-levels, GSCE and WIST exams indicate that you will have no issues with this. All associated staff are happy to sign of your requests for private lab time._

_Please make your way to the following address to pick up your first packet of subject material, and to finalize your details regarding your enrolment._

_I look forward to seeing you soon._

_._

_Regards,_

_Bianca Castello_

_Headmistress of ISMAS_

.

.

.

“How did it go?” Xanxus examined his gun, polishing cloth in hand, feet propped up on his desk.

“The peasants were…tolerable.” Bel conceded after a while. “Narcissa has not changed much, and Lord Black’s ruthlessness was surprising.”

The Storm Officer had swept into his office soon after he had finished reaming Slaugh out for picking a fight with her boyfriend in public. After he’d finished that, he’d scolded Fluffy about showing up to the VARIA when not every assassin knew him and may have killed him and his Guardians by accident. The small Sky, equal parts upset and angry (matched only by Xanxus’ anger that the shitty old man _still_ had them all locked up), had told him that Nono Vongola had basically kept them prisoner, and only taught them paperwork procedures (of which, only a few were _actually_ followed). The Sun brat had seemingly made friends with many of the younger Superbi’s, and had managed to garner an invitation to their fortress, but the rest of them were still stuck inside. Until Hibari had the bright idea of coming to resolve his issues with Slaugh, and dragged the rest of them along for the ride.

Slaugh and Hibari had disappeared off to God knew where, but judging by the lack of collapsing buildings, Lussuria had managed to kept them from clawing each other’s throats out. Mammon had vanished with the Mistling, muttering something about babysitting one more child and the Arcobaleno, while Squalo had dragged the Rain brat to his Division, bellowing about practise against other weapons.

Bel was now sprawled out on his couch (in his office for the sole purpose of taking naps), staring at the ceiling and spinning a knife absent-mindedly around their fingers.

“What did the shitty wizard trash want?”

There was a long, tense silence, and Xanxus lifted his gaze from his guns to his Storm, the blonde unusually quiet and pensive.

“Lord Black _gifted_ us with the overseas properties to use as safehouses.” They finally conceded.

Xanxus dropped his cloth.

“How many?”

“ _Hundreds._ ” Bell whined, rolling over and sitting upright. “Boss, he _bequeathed me his estate when he dies._ That’s….” Bel waved their hand, unable to articulate properly.

“Shit.” Xanxus breathed. Hundreds of safehouses. Hundreds of _unknown_ safehouses- ones Vongola and CEDEF didn’t know about. They were all probably protected by that magic bullshittery that made them untraceable or unplottable or whatever. Bel snorted.

“Indeed. And that’s adding to the ones Viðarr is planning to donate after the Winter Solstice.”

“ _Viðarr_ is giving the VARIA safehouses?” Xanxus placed his guns on the table before he dropped them- there were too many bombshells. “But why after the Solstice?”

“Oh, Viðarr, Slaugh, Alice and I are planning on going to England to kill his father. He was a loose end in the future-thing, and Viðarr was most put out that he hadn’t killed him yet. Mammon offered to ask one of her contacts to babysit, so no one could trace it back to us. Aunt Cassiopeia is a _master_ at blackmailing people.” There was a note of envy mingled with admiration in that statement, and Xanxus hid a smile, before the words registered.

“You are planning on going back to England?” He asked, quiet. He tamped down on his Flames; they screamed at him to keep his Storm close, not to let them out of his sight. His unease was picked up by his Storm, however, who moved their gaze from the table to his face.

“Not until the day before the Solstice, and we’ll be back as soon as it ends.” Bel confirmed quietly, before hesitantly adding, “You won’t try to stop us? Three of your Guardians will be out of action for three days.”

“I’m sure Squalo will be able to pick up the slack.” Xanxus gave them a wry grin, and Bel smirked, no doubt picturing the shark’s reaction. It fell quickly, and Bel’s Flames twisted in uncertainty.

“Boss, I…”

“Bel.” Xanxus interrupted, Flames reaching out to reassure his Storm. “I am not in the least happy about you, Viðarr and Slaugh going back to England. But I am mature enough to realize that you all need to do this.” Even if he wanted to return to burn that entire castle down and all the people who had ever harmed _his_ Guardians. Maybe he’d pay Mammon a substantial fee to do it for him. Maybe empty their coffers? That would probably make the purple miser happy.

Actually, that was a _fantastic_ idea. With the restrictions still in place for the VARIA, they’ll need a different source of cash while they wait for it to be lifted. Mammon would enjoy the challenge, seeing as they had finished all their backlogged paperwork within the first _week_ , and could only torture their minions so many times before it got boring. Plus, with the extra cash, they could all probably afford the restrictions longer than Vongola by at least three months, therefore…

“Boss, you have your plotting face on again.”

“Do you think Mammon would like to drain some wizarding coffers?” He asked, and Bel grinned, sharp and deadly.

“ _Ushishishi,_ I will give them a list of names they can start with. Mammon would enjoy draining the idiots of their gold. Add in the conversion rates…”

“What?”

“Wizards,’ Bel explained gleefully, ‘pay for everything in _pure gold_. 10 grams per coin.”

Xanxus whistled, conversion rates going through his head, followed quickly by the black market conversion rates. More than enough to fund the VARIA indeed. If it was pure gold, and each coin was about 10 grams….100 coins was enough to pay an Officer’s salary for a _year_.

.

“I’ve been accepted by a local Italian school to continue my education.” Bel commented, after a long silence. “They do distance learning, but I may have to attend a couple of night classes for practical application. It should not interfere with my duties.”

Xanxus stared at them, eyes narrow.

“You weren’t coerced into this?”

“No.” Bel confirmed, waving a dismissive hand. “It is a requirement that we sit exams to prove our proficiency in magic, so that we don’t blow ourselves up doing stupid things. The Italian school also respected my wish for privacy. Most of the other European schools believe that there is a certain…prestige in me attending there.”

“You’re royalty.” Xanxus pointed out. “At least twice over. Any school would be clamouring to have you attend.”

“The Italian school also does non-magical education, and I am very far behind.” Bel continued, looking put out.

“Bel,’ Xanxus began, confused, ‘you _have a high-school degree._ ”

“What?” Bel stated flatly, face blank. Xanxus nodded, trying to hide his amusement that his Storm forgot about it. He certainly hadn’t forgotten the months of cursing, stabbing and falling asleep with a textbook in odd places.

“You had one before I got…frozen.”

“Ah.” Bel blinked, and their gaze turned inward for a moment, before an irritated look crossed their face. “I forgot.”

They stood, and brushed some imaginary dust off their thighs.

“If that is all, wrathful peasant, I shall take my leave. I need to un-enrol in some classes.”

“Actually, there is one more thing, while I have you here…” Xanxus trailed off, wondering how to phrase it. His chest _ached_ at the memory of losing Squalo, as if it were his own chest that had been punched out. Slaugh had been a dull ache against his ribs and pressing against his spine- uncomfortable, like he’d fractured something and it had healed badly. He had died before losing Lussuria ( _I went Supernova,_ Lussuria had whispered to him in the darkness, curled up against his side, head on his arm and hand resting over his heart. _I was in a world without my best friend_ and _my Sky, so I didn’t want to live there anymore)_ , Mammon ( _Mou, I used too much of my Flames and paid the price. The pacifier shattered, and so did my soul)_ , and Viðarr ( _The magic I used consumed me, in the end._ Viðarr raised a hand to his throat. _It was Dark Magic, and it rotted your body, mind and soul with every use. I was feral at the end, so I didn’t notice that I was dead until I woke up)_ , but losing Belphegor….

It had been as thought someone had stabbed him straight through his heart, and then proceeded to twist the knife. He’d woken from a restless sleep screaming himself hoarse as the bond shattered, and only the presence of Lussuria, Mammon and Viðarr stopped him from burning the whole building down in his rage and grief. Then, Lei’s message three days later, carrying Belphegor’s last words….

“Boss?” Bel was still standing by the door, looking confused. “Are you ill, wrathful peasant?”

Xanxus choked back a hysterical laugh, his panic rising. Oh, sweet Lord, how did he even _begin_ to cover this topic? Because there was no doubt, his memories of the future-that-wasn’t were crystal clear and so _natural_ that he had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t real any more. Because there was no doubt about it.

He had been in love with his Storm Guardian.

And Belphegor had loved him back. Enough to send a message as their last words.

.

God, he didn’t even know _how_ to begin processing it, let alone asking Belphegor if it was true. It was so _awkward._ Xanxus kept looking at Bel and seeing his little bloodthirsty monster who barely came up to his waist and demanded to be carried on his shoulders, then he’d blink and it was the tall, regal teen with blonde curls and _curves_ , who came up to his shoulders and demanded his attention in ways he _really_ didn’t want to think about.

“It about the future trash.” He managed to get out, and Bel moved back to the couch, leaning a hip against it and focusing all of their attention on him.

“Yes?”

Xanxus thought about how he was going to phrase it. He would at least sound as suave as Enrico, who was always a hit with the ladies…

Fuck it.

“Did you mean what you said?” He blurted out, feeling heat rise on the tips of his ears and his neck.

“What?” Bel frowned, and Xanxus swallowed his pride and embarrassment.

“Your last message, via Lei. Did you mean it?” he managed to get out.

.

Bel blushed a bright red, redder than their Flames, and they spluttered incoherently, unable to get any words out. Xanxus felt his own blush rising, despite his best attempts to clamp it down, and for a moment, the room was heavy with the weight of embarrassment, awkwardness and general teenage angst.

“ _Fuck._ ” Bel wheezed, covering their face with their hands and flopping back onto the couch.

“Oh, Morrigan, Morgana and Hecate, future me was _stupid._ ”

“Bel, look, you don’t have to….”

“Silence, peasant.” Bel interrupted, still looking mortified. “The Prince is confused. The Prince doesn’t like _emotions.”_

Xanxus hid a frown at the reversion to the original form of address Belphegor had used when he’d first come to the VARIA.

“Because when the Prince was actually a Prince he made jokes about women, and then the Prince was a Princess, and found boys vaguely attractive, but now that the Prince and the Princess have merged minds the Prince doesn’t know because he also finds _men_ as desirable as _women_ and….” Bel whined, and Xanxus sympathized. Then Bel continued.

“And they always thought that the wrathful peasant was striking and charismatic and there was the stupid puppy crush when they first joined and then we meet after you were unfrosted and it was _worse_ , because not only was the wrathful peasant still stupidly alluring, but so was _Yosei_ in the ‘I-can-and-will-break-your-spine-in-six-ways’ and _Slaugh_ in the ‘I-can-kill-you-with-a-pinkie-finger’ and even the _shark peasant_ and his stupid long hair and passion and…. _fuck!”_ The last word was whimpered, and Bel curled into a ball, dragging the blanket resting on the back of the couch over their head, the Storm Officer reduced to a quivering ball of confusion and emotions.

Xanxus sat there, trying to process.

“You found _Squalo_ attractive?” Was his only answer, and he ducked as a knife flew at his head.

“Didn’t you?” came the muffled retort, and Xanxus grimaced, remembering that…fling that ended very quickly.

“Irrelevant.” He dismissed, but he understood where Bel was coming from, unfortunately. His own list of unfortunate teenage crushes included and was not limited to Lussuria, Squalo, _fucking Dino_ and to his eternal horror, Federico. Not to mention Bronte, one of the assassins (now retired) who served under Ottava, codename Mantis, who could _do_ things with knives that made pre-teen him swoon. It did, however, explain the numerous times he’d found Lussuria and Bel whispering in the Sun Officer’s quarters, only for them to fall silent as soon as he’d walked in.

“You don’t have to act on anything future-you said, if you don’t want to.” Xanxus finally offered. “I shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place, I…”

“Xanxus.” Bel poked their head out of the blanket burrito, glaring at him. “Shut up. You are unfairly good-looking, and my dumb teenage brain can’t handle it at the moment, but if we’re both still interested a few years down the line…” Bel trailed off, and shrugged. “Maybe, wrathful peasant. Maybe we will, maybe we won’t.”

Bel stood, blanket still wrapped around them like a cape.

“Now, if you will excuse the Prince, they have humiliated themselves enough for one day. We shall retire to our chambers and stab pillows, because the minions are not currently replaceable.”

Xanxus wheezed out a laugh as he stood, neck still burning a dull red even as he made his way to the door to show his Officer out.

“Lussuria is hiding a new shipment of ice-cream. I saw the delivery Mists bring it in.” He offered, and Bel perked up, eyes gleaming.

“Hopefully there is strawberry ice-cream that the Prince can use to bribe Mammon with.”

Xanxus held the door open, and his Storm swept past, pausing in the threshold, a strange expression on their face.

“Bel?”

Bel reached up, and pressed their lips to his cheek.

“Thank you…Xanxus.”

They fled down the hallway, and Xanxus was left holding the door open, staring into space as his Storm vanished. _Oh_. He leaned against the doorframe, reaching up to touch the cheek Bel had kissed, and caught himself smiling stupidly. There was a giggle, and he looked up to glare at the Mist half-embedded in the ceiling. They had the nerve to _wave_ at him, and then fade upwards, no doubt to spread the news that the Storm Officer had kissed their Sky.

.

“ _Shit.”_

.

.


	23. On Plots, and Errors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too many songs. Too many quotes. Just...
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> It's the End.

**So fuck you (fuck you very very much)**

A surprise visitor to the Vongola arrives!

.

“Sawada Iemitsu.”

The voice was cold, emitting all the fury of a woman scorned, coming from the small, diminutive brunette standing in the doorway.

“Miss, you can’t be here.” Brow Nie was trying to keep her from entering the meeting room, and Bel leaned forward, gaze sharpening.

“Isn’t that…” Lussuria murmured to Xanxus, who nodded.

“Fluffy’s mother.”

.

“I don’t care where and where not I can’t go.” The woman snapped in accented but fluent Italian. “I’m here to see my husband, whether he likes it or not.”

“ _Kaa-chan.”_ Tsuna choked out, and the woman brightened momentarily.

“Tsu-kun! Kaa-chan is mad, but not at you. I will talk to you later. SAWADA!” Like a switch was flipped, the raging inferno was back. Sawada stood, wincing, and made his way to the door.

“Nana, it’s too dangerous for you to be here, you need to…”

“ _Don’t tell me what to do, Sawada.”_ The woman hissed. Bel pulled out their phone, and pressed record.

“Nana…”

“Don’t…” Nana cut him off, slicing a hand through the air, eyes blazing. “Don’t try and justify yourself to me, Sawada. I had to hear about your actual job from _Hibari Fengyu_ , Iemitsu! _Hibari!_ Because you simply didn’t have the balls to tell me yourself! You _left me_ , to raise our son by myself for fourteen years, with no help at all. I _moved to Namimori_ for you, away from all my friends, my family, because you said that it was safe from assassins. You know what? _I killed eight people protecting Tsuna._ ”

Iemitsu choked around the words he was about to say, eyes wide. Nana barrelled on, regardless of their audience, getting more and more agitated.

“I was a little shocked the first time, but by the time the fourth one came around, I as resigned to it. The only reason they got so close at all was because they said that _they were your friends from work._ How was I to know who they were?! You never told me _anything_ , only about your boss, who actually visited with you, and then sealed Tsuna’s Flames!”

“How do you know about Flames?” Iemitsu demanded to know, angry. “Did the Hibari tell you that as well?”

Nana narrowed her eyes, and the temperature in the room dropped.

“Fengyu doesn’t need to tell me everything. I’m not stupid, Sawada.”

“But I never told you! Was it Reborn? Tsuna? Tsuyoshi?” Iemitsu was raging red, and he practically spat out the name of the sushi chef. “Were you seeking comfort from him while I was away?”

“Unlike _someone_ in this room, _I_ was loyal to my marriage vows.” Nana hissed. “Or did you think I wouldn’t find out about Tsuna’s _half-brother?_ ”

Iemistu reeled back as if he’d been struck, face draining of colour. Nana continued on, relentless.

“At least Tsuyoshi would have been _loyal._ At least he lived in the same town year-round. Perhaps it would have been better if I _had_ married him, because then I wouldn’t have been treated like _trash._ ”

“Can they?” Takeshi murmured to Tsuna. “Can tou-chan and Nana-san get married? Because the thought of the food they would produce in Takesushi makes me want to drool.”

“I wouldn’t be adverse to it.” Tsuna replied, equally low. “I’ll pay for the damn wedding myself.”

“Popcorn?” Xanxus held out the large bucket to Tsuna, who immediately grabbed a handful and chewed on it, agitated.

“…didn’t need to tell me about Flames, you stupid moron! _I already knew about them._ ”

“How? Someone must have told you, you never mentioned it…”

Sun Flames erupted around Nana’s fists as she lunged forward, punching Sawada in the face. He howled as his nose was broken and his skin was burnt.

“ _Because I’m a fucking ex-yakuza hitwoman!”_ Nana snapped, eyes blazing gold. “I retired to raise Tsuna, because I thought that I’d finally met the one man that was worth it, only to have him abandon me and live halfway across the world!”

Tsuna made a small ‘ _oh’_ , and nodded like everything suddenly made sense.

“That’s why I wasn’t allowed to go into the basement. And why she made Reborn nervous when she used knives.”

“That’s what you got, voi?” Squalo looked shell-shocked.

“A beautiful punch.” Lussuria sighed. “Lovely execution, and the burn was a nice touch.”

.

“I am through with you.” Nana snarled, pulling a brown packet out of her handbag and tossing on the table. “Those are the divorce papers. Sign them; my Mist sister has done something to them so that once you do, they will return to me. After that, I never want to see or speak to you again. If you do, I will treat you like all my other unwanted visitors. Goodbye.” Nana turned, and stalked out the door, slamming it behind her hard enough to leave cracks in the walls.

Tsuna sighed, shot a glare at his sperm donor, and then followed his mother out the door, Takeshi hot on his heels.

Bel smirked, and pressed the button to end the recording, immediately sending it to Mammon.

.

The VARIA would get a kick out of this. No one liked Sawada.

.

.

.

 **It’s a little bit funny (this feeling inside)** \- **_ristina.hinata_**

(Xanxus takes Bel on a date)

.

For the record, Xanxus would like to state that he had everything planned out perfectly.

He’d double-checked all possible sniper spots, and the VARIA Quality blind spots, he’d made sure that where they were going didn’t encroach on an enemy Familigia’s territory, used (abused) Mammon’s network to double-check no shoot-outs were going to happen due to high tensions between the lesser street gangs.

He’d showered, dressed nicely, debated for twenty minutes with himself about whether it would be more appropriate to give Bel flowers or a new knife, agonized over his wardrobe because he never realized that he owned exactly three items of clothing that didn’t have the VARIA crest on it (and it was all _underwear_ ), contemplated ringing Federico for advice until he remembered that Federico was _still_ pining over Hamlet and had yet to make a move.

He’d braved asking Lussuria for help in the clothing department, and his Sun had spent an impossibly long time picking clothes out for him (they’d bickered a lot; he was _not_ going to wear purple), but they managed to find something that was comfortable, practical and fashionable. The blazer was tight enough to ‘show of his shoulders’, but loose enough to hide his guns under, and thankfully, his hair had grown out from the ratty nest he’d kept it in before he was frozen. He’d endured teasing from Squalo, threats from Viðarr and Slaugh, and a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from Mammon and advice against the flowers (this was why he loved Mammon best) and the suggestion that gelato would be appropriate from Yosei.

.

It had started off well too. He had managed to get his shit together enough to grab Bel’s hand and hold it for most of the walk around, the two of them just talking. His Storm was looking ridiculously pretty with their hair braided around their head, wearing a flowy white top and black jeans with VARIA boots, and Xanxus could even spot a little bit of makeup (he wasn’t going to mention it). They’d stopped for coffee (Xanxus paying, _stop arguing Bel_ ) and biscotti, happy to just relax and drink the good coffee and not instant shit that was commonplace in HQ, holding hands across the table.

.

That was when it went to shit.

Because nobody can be prepared for other people’s idiocy.

The Abano Familigia were small-time petty crooks and con-men. The Crespo were thieves for the most part, specializing in cars. Lower-level scum, nearing the bottom of the Cosa Nostra food chain. It shouldn’t have been an issue.

Except that Bel and Xanxus had the misfortune of sitting at the table next to the son of the right-hand man of the Abano, and the cousin of Don Crespo and his younger brother had just spotted him. And today was the day that the Abano had just beaten the Crespo out of a business deal.

Shots were fired.

.

Being Quality, Xanxus flipped the table, stray bullets thudding into the wooden surface. Also being Quality, Bel managed to get their biscotti and coffee off the table before he flipped it. Curling up next to him, Bel handed Xanxus his coffee cup and curled up against his side, sipping their own expresso and nibbling on a biscotti.

“Not exactly what I had in mind when you said date, Xanxus.” Bel drawled, and Xanxus fought down an embarrassed flush.

“Not what I had in mind either.” He retorted, checking that his guns were within easy reach.

“Hey.” A gun clicked, and, as one, Bel and Xanxus look up, one of the Crespo henchman pointing his gun at Bel. “Bitch, get up. Or I shoot your boyfriend.” Bel stiffened. Xanxus sighed, grabbing the remains of the biscotti and Bel’s espresso.

“I’ll hold your coffee.”

“ _What did you just call the Prince, peasant?”_ Bel hissed, drawing a knife and standing up, deflecting a bullet and flaring their Flames.

That was when the screaming started.

.

When it was all over, the café was covered in blood, and both the Crespo and Abano bade a hasty retreat, dragging their wounded and their dead. Xanxus sipped at his coffee at the table (now upright once more), and scanned the streets, one of his guns smoking on the table (the stupid bastard thought that he was _Stupid_ , and tried to stab him. He was the pile of ash on the ground now). Bel sauntered over, a distinct swing in their hips that wasn’t there before, looking pleasantly relaxed and distinctly pleased with themselves.

Bel slid into the chair, all liquid grace and long limbs, and smiled at him, sharp and bloody, draining the remains of their coffee in one gulp.

“You are forgiven, Xanxus. I take it back. This was the _best_ date.”

Looking around the partially destroyed café, the cars on fire and the police sirens wailing in the distance, along with the shocked looking civilians standing around, Xanxus decided that discretion would be the better part of valour, and handed Bel the rest of the biscotti.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” He managed to get out, drinking his coffee and wishing for something a little stronger.

.

 _Not_ what he had in mind _at all._

.

.

**We didn’t start the fire (it was always burning)- _bookimp_**

(Slaugh and Hibari go on a mission together. It’s a bad idea)

.

In hindsight, sending two extremely volatile Clouds on a mission together was a bad idea. But, Tsuna was pissed, Xanxus was pissed, even _Federico_ was pissed, the entire VARIA was a seething mass of rage, and Hibari was going to go murder them anyway.

How did it start?

.

The bloody Vongola Ball.

And the VARIA Ladies were the envy of all.

.

Naturally, idiots would take advantage.

Three fights. Sixteen marriage proposals (for _Yosei)_ , plus over a hundred offers to dance. Offers for alliance through marriage addressed directly to Xanxus? Forty-eight. There were also offers made for Squalo and Viðarr (since Perun was conspicuously absent), and Fon, standing next to his nephew, was looking more and more pissed off as the evening wore on, many trying to gain favour with Mammon. It all came to a head when one persistent Don wouldn’t take no for an answer while pursuing _Hamlet_ of all people, despite knowing that she was a bonded Rain to a Vongola Sky. Chrome, who had been taken under wing of the sniper (much to the delight of both, since they were generally quiet, out of the way people, except when Rokudo was around) was looking increasingly uncomfortable with it all, flickers of Rokudo making himself known drawing the attention of Hibari. In turn, that drew the attention of Slaugh and Tsuna, and it kind of snowballed from there.

The Don made a pass at Hamlet, only to be firmly rebuffed by the Dane. The Don then turned his attentions to Chrome, who politely declined his offer of marriage to his heir.

The Don got snipy, stating something about loose woman and the two Guardian’s spreading their legs for their Sky’s, only for Federico (backed up by Macbeth and his new Mist, Othello) to intervene and demand an apology for slights against Vongola Guardians, very tellingly placing his hand over Hamlet’s to prevent her from drawing her handgun.

The Don refused, stating that he was merely expressing his own opinion, and added that perhaps it was the reason why there were suddenly so many females in the VARIA, posing as ‘assassins’.

Tsuna intervened before Xanxus could shot the bastard, declaring that if there wasn’t a retraction, then Tsuna would be making his own opinion on the Don’s behaviour very clear.

The Don refused again, and swept out of the Ball with a parting jab that made Tsuna’s eyes darken, and a scowl of rage twist Federico’s features. Xanxus was chillingly calm, and that made everyone else more afraid.

.

And thus, it was behind closed doors, that Xanxus suggested the most unholy alliance to be created and sent to deal with the Don.

.

Hibari Kyoya, Cloud Guardian of Vongola, and Slaugh, Cloud Officer of the VARIA.

.

Eyes blazing a burnt orange, Tsuna agreed, and sent the orders.

.

And thus, the two Clouds had their silence interrupted by the arrival of Hamlet, stating that they were needed for an urgent mission, and handed the sealed envelope over to them, face set in a smug grin with a hint of anticipation, causing Slaugh and Hibari to exchange a curious glance at each other, before Slaugh opened the envelope, Kyoya reading over her shoulder. They reached the last line at the same time, and both broke out into identical grins, bloodlust quickly filling the air.

.

_‘At your discretion.’_

.

They took Kyoya’s motorbike, dressed civilian, and went to explore the city for the day, their uniforms hidden underneath the seat. They managed to find a tea shop that was opposite the villa where the insolent Don lived, and spent most of the day in blissful quiet, drinking tea and sharing headphones and writing down any weaknesses that they could find, disguised as Japanese and Italian lessons. The waitress was lovely, letting them have the table for as long as they liked and bringing them tea (and giving them a plate of _cantuccini_ to nibble on for free) and sometimes correcting their pronunciation when Slaugh said (lied) that she was from Sicily and her friend from Japan had come over to visit her and they were travelling but he’d learned Italian and she spoke mostly Sicilian so they were trying to improve her Japanese so that they could communicate better. The waitress sucked up the story and commended them for doing so well and travelling so far, and happily answered their questions on the surrounding areas.

But she wouldn’t say much about the Fabiano Familigia, whose villa they were sitting opposite. Only that they ran the town. They were good people.

Slaugh didn’t buy it.

.

The documents in the main office disproved the waitress’s words, along with the folders of blackmail material against _so many women_ and the bribes and the trafficking and the heir’s court cases that were dropped faster than they appeared. They were despicable people.

“We can’t leave this here.” Kyoya hissed, visibly shaking in rage as he stared at the photos, one in front of him showing a girl barely into her teens. Behind him, the Don groaned, and Kyoya aimed a vicious kick at his head, silencing him once more. Slaugh nodded, teeth clenched tight, before her gaze caught something on the wall. A wine award. One for gin. And many, many awards for a craft rum, whatever the fuck that was. Rum was flammable, right? She remembered her cousins Tyler and Gabriel setting fire to a bottle and throwing it at their principal’s car after he expelled them. Then later, her weeks with Cousin Severus, and the offhand comment he made about Everclear being shit and that a good whisky was the way to go, despite how awesome Everclear looked when it was on fire, rum had prettier colours though.

“There must be a lot of rum in the cellars.” Slaugh commented, mind whirring. “The first bottle is not always the best. Hypothetically, if one were to set fire to it, using blackmail documents to start the fire, it would burn for a long time.”

“It would take them a long time to restock.” Kyoya agreed, raising an eyebrow. “If something were to happen to it, hypothetically, of course.”

Slaugh met Kyoya’s gaze, a feral grin stretching her lips, bloodlust thickening in the air, mixed with mischief. She held up the keys to the cellars.

His lips twisted to mirror hers, eyes shadowed by his fringe and a demonic aura surrounding him. In the light, his teeth looked almost pointed, and Slaugh suddenly understood why the mistling’s name for him was not _onii-chan,_ but _oni-san._

_._

He held up a lighter.

_Click._

.

.

It burned beautifully. On a hilltop, astride Kyoya’s motorbike with her arms wrapped around him, Slaugh sighed in pure bliss, inhaling the scent of matcha and spearmint. Kyoya covered her hands with one of his, a low purr rumbling in his chest. The distant sounds of screams reached them, along with frantic shouts and swearing.

“We are due back in two hours.” Slaugh sighed, reluctant to ruin the moment but knowing that they’d get reamed out of they were late.

“Just a moment longer.” Kyoya uttered lowly, hand tightening around hers. Slaugh smiled into his shoulder, and pressed a kiss underneath his ear.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

They sat on the hill under the stars for half an hour more, surveying and admiring their handiwork, the fires bathing the countryside in a warm golden glow.

“Come, _koi.”_ Kyoya twisted to place a light kiss on her nose, and she wrinkled it in protest, unable to stop a smile breaking across her face. The motorbike roared to life, and Slaugh tightened her grip as Kyoya pulled onto the road, the wind whipping her hair and making her eyes stream a little, but she didn’t care.

She was just so… _happy._

.

.

.

**Bitch betta have my MONEY (pay me what you owe me)- _JaguarVakarian, bloodshound_**

OR Mammon indulges in daylight robbery (Fon’s just the arm candy)

.

In hindsight, using Mist Flames to appear in the middle of a session (she’d have to thank Lord Black for the information on the times), right in the middle of the assembly, was a bad idea. But Mammon had done it, and so she had to deal with the mess (she also felt that it was suitably dramatic, but she wasn’t going to mention that). She waved a hand, and the Mist Flames cleared, letting her dodge a yellow-brown spell that whizzed by her ear. She eyed the caster.

“Rude.”

“Who are you? How did you enter the chamber?” An ancient wizard demanded to know, beard snow white and scraggly. His seat indicated him to be House Selwyn, one of House Yaxely’s old allies.

“My name,’ Mammon announced, loud and clear, ‘is Ekaterina Nadia Yaxely, Lady of House Yaxely.”

There was an uproar from the assembly, and the old fat man on the stand fired three bangs from his wand before they would settle.

“What proof do you have that you are of my House, let alone the Head?” A middle-aged, balding man demanded, mouth a tight, angry line underneath his beard. Mammon tilted her head, not able to place a name to the face, before…

“I know you, you’re Andon’s little brat.” Mammon curled her lip in disgust. “You vomited on me when you were four, and your father made _me_ apologize for upsetting you.”

There was ripple of poorly hidden sniggers, and the man in the House Yaxely seat flushed.

“Tell me, Diran of House Yaxely, what is the Family Gift?” Mammon continued, relentless. “Did you read the flames and divine my visit? Or is that beyond your control?”

“You dare…” he sputtered, but Mammon steamrolled over him.

“I dare, nephew, because House Yaxely belongs to me. _I_ possess the Family Gift. It has been taken from your line.”

“You are a _Squib._ ” Diran hissed, and Mammon narrowed their eyes, letting their ironclad control over their magic loose, the weight of it pressing down upon the room and making the seated Houses shiver.

“And you,” Mammon pointed at their Stupid nephew, “are in my seat.”

Vines sprouted from his chair, and the man shouted in panic as they constricted around him, the cries gaining in pitch as the vines continued to tighten, before there was a crunch, and it was silent. Mammon stepped forward, over the now dead body, and sat down in the recently vacated seat, subtly adjusting their cloak so that it draped and hid the shape of their body.

“Are there any more questions regarding my legitimacy?” Mammon questioned the room, voice icy. “I’d be more than happy to demonstrate my magical proficiency on those who continue to doubt my claim.”

“Killing a Seated Member is a crime, punishable by death.” A particularly pompous wizard said, and Mammon gripped the armrests tightly.

“So is kidnapping a magical child from a foreign coven.” She parried, voice mild. “But yet, those who assisted in the crime are still seated in this chamber.”

There was silence, before a tall blonde stood from the Malfoy seat, meeting her eyes.

“You are referring to Ms Potter, Lady Yaxely? The Heiress to three of our esteemed houses?”

“That is correct, Lord Malfoy.” Mammon affirmed.

“Will House Yaxely be seeking retribution?” House Longbottom demanded, and Mammon gave them a wicked smirk, leaning back into her chair.

“Retribution has already been taken.” A thick silence filled the room, and Mammon resisted the urge to laugh, knowing that if she did so, it would not sound sane in the slightest. She drummed her fingernails on the armrest, the clicking sound irritating House Avery and House Mulciber, but she didn’t care. She knew that Mulciber and Avery had been friends with her nephew, but they were assholes.

“Then what is your purpose in this Hallowed Body?” The pompous wizard asked, and Mammon hummed, wondering if the fallout would be worth it, before deciding that yes, it would be.

“Consider this a warning.” Mammon began, standing and allowing both magic and Flames to seep out across the floor. “Those who dare touch what is _mine_ will feel the full wrath upon their House. The _Children of_ _Terra_ , as an official coven, will be permitted to take appropriate measures if a treasured member is kidnapped once more. Also, you may want to watch your expenses in the next few weeks. Some of you may not be able to afford it. Until next time.”

With a twist of Flames, Mammon teleported themselves back to where Fon was waiting, hiding in the shade of a tree, watching Lichi chatter with a pair of squirrels.

“Finished already? That was barely twenty minutes.” Fon commented as soon as she was next to him. Mammon sighed.

“It was pitifully easy. Kill a person, flare my magic, make vague threats and then vanish. They won’t be coming after Bel anytime soon. Well,’ Mammon gave Fon a sly grin, ‘not with their finances anyway.”

“If you were capable of resolving this without my help, why did you ask me to come?” Fon questioned, offering Mammon his arm. Mammon smiled at him, and looped her arm through his.

“I wanted something pleasant to look at afterwards.” She commented, smile growing wider at his disbelief.

“So I was eye-candy?” Fon managed to get out, incredulous.

“Something like that.” Mammon hummed, taking a deep breath and exhaling. “Now, since I’ve successfully robbed most of the Wizarding World blind and their economy will collapse in a few weeks, bar the few businesses Bel asked me to spare, how about we go to that tea shop you like?

Fon barked out a surprised laugh.

“My, you _are_ generous today.”

“I’m not paying.” Mammon informed him haughtily, and Fon gave her an amused smile.

“It was good to change some money to the local currency then.”

“Oh, you’re not paying either.” Mammon leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

.

“The Wizarding World will pay.”

.

.

 **Head will roll (on the floor)** \- **_Tsuyu-the-Hanyou_**

(Viðarr commits patricide)

.

Bel and Slaugh were in his childhood room, packing his things, hidden from the wards.

Viðarr stood in the shadows of his father’s office, observing his progenitor. The months passing his disappearance and the death of the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort had not been kind to Lord Nott. What had once been slowly greying hair was now completely gray, there were new lines to his face and his movements spoke of a deep-set paranoia. Fitting, considering that there was, in fact, an intruder in his office. Viðarr was ready. He knew the words, his duty, what he had to do.

He shifted.

Lord Nott’s head snapped up, gaze piercing the room.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” Viðarr took a moment to gather his courage, and then wiped all emotion from himself. He couldn’t afford to get distracted.

“Good evening, sir. Sorry to intrude this late, but I’ve come to kill you. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Who do you think you are, just waltzing into my house like…” Lord Nott trailed off, squinting in the dim light at Viðarr. “Like you are one of my kin.” He finished and Viðarr slow-clapped.

“Well done, Lord Nott. Your observation skills are astounding.” He said, stepping forward into the candle light.

“Theodore.” Lord Nott growled. Viðarr gritted his teeth.

“That is no longer my name, Lord Nott. But you won’t be around long enough to correct your mistake.”

“So you have come to replace me.” Lord Nott stated, looking equal parts amused and angry. “You think you can challenge me, boy? I am the Dark Lord’s best front-line fighter.”

“I am not your judge.” Viðarr stated, eyes narrow. “I am your executioner. Do not mistake the two.”

“What are you talking about, boy?” Lord Nott snapped. Viðarr raised his hand, and used a silver knife to slice across his forearm, blood dripping onto the carpet. Lord Nott took a step back.

“What do you….”

“ _I, Theodore Acacius Morholt Agni Nott, son of Theodore Henricus Marrok Erlingr Nott, hereby call upon my ancestors of House Nott, to judge the claim on the House.”_ Viðarr intoned in Old Norse, magic swirling around him and blowing stacks of paper everywhere, Lord Nott frozen in place.

“What are you doing, boy? Stop this nonsense!”

“ _I call upon our patron Goddess, Skadi, of the winters, of the mountains, of the hunt. I call upon Forseti, the God of Justice, to settle the dispute. I call upon these patrons of House Nott, to contest the claim of Lordship on the House.”_

“You play with powers you do not understand, boy.” Lord Nott laughed. “The Gods shall have your soul for this! Your arrogance has led to…”

.

The candle flickered, and went out.

.

 **“ _We are Summoned, by the blood of our descendants, to settle a dispute.”_ **The voice was both male and female, terrifying yet reassuring, loud and soft and ringing in Viðarr’s very soul and vibrating through his bones. Yet, he could feel _two_ presences in the room with them

“ ** _Speak.”_** The voice demanded, and Viðarr swallowed, taking a deep breath.

“I have called upon the patron God and Goddess of this House to judge the actions of the current Lord. He has forsaken the Olde Ways, ceasing to worship those who gave us power, and instead followed the words of a madman, who also did not follow the Olde Ways. He has committed crimes against his kin, his magical brethren, and had evaded justice for his actions through deceit and bribery.”

“Silence, boy.” Lord Nott cut across, livid. Viðarr couldn’t see his face, but he could imagine the scowl that twisted it. He had seen it directed at him far too often.

“He has mistreated his offspring,’ Viðarr continued, willing his voice to hold steady, ‘he has forsaken his marriage vows and was unfaithful to his spouse, and later murdered her in cold blood. He has raped young women not of age, and desecrated graves of those he deemed lesser. He has bribed officials, and assisted in the passing of laws that severely put others at a disadvantage. He has dishonoured alliances, betrayed those Houses that have long been allies, and broken oaths sworn by his magic and the honour of his House. He has ignored the rulings and teachings and laws laid down by our ancestors in the governing of this House. He has tarnished the name of House Nott.”

“ **Do you seek retribution for the death of your mother?”** The voice was a smidgen more masculine, and Viðarr hoped that he was speaking to Forseti.

“I do. I seek justice for those he has wronged.”

“ _Do you seek retribution for the wrongs he has done to you?”_ A female voice demanded, the howl of a harsh winter blizzard against a mountain.

“I do.” Viðarr’s voice wavered a little, and he took a fortifying breath.

“I have done you no wrongs, boy. You should be grateful…”

“Grateful?” Viðarr spat. “ _Grateful?_ Grateful that I had to learn how to sneak around the house to avoid you when you were drinking, grateful that you scarred me both mentally and physically in your ‘lessons’? Should I be grateful that you _stole_ my innocence?”

“A necessary evil, you were too weak to be…”

“ ** _ENOUGH!”_** The voices thundered, and Viðarr squeezed his eyes shut as the torches flared, resisting the urge to flinch as the fire came too close. He kept them shut, even as a white light flared into being, a black void against his eyelids in the shape of a humanoid.

**“ _We have seen into your heart, Theodore Henricus Marrok Erlingr of House Nott. We have seen your very soul, and found you lacking in honour and dignity. Too long has this House forsaken your patrons. We, who gave you life and magical gifts. We, who gave you the ability to divine truth from lies, to distribute justice, to be a voice for those who were weaker. We, who taught you the ways of the Runes, and Rituals long forgotten. You have dishonoured your ancestors with your actions and words.”_**

**_._ **

**“Retribution will be administered by our chosen Heir, Theodore Acacius Morholt Agni of House Nott**. **As Viðarr avenged the death of his father Odinn by slaying the wolf Fenrir, so shall our Heir avenge the death of the innocents by your hand by slaying you.”** Forseti demanded.

“ _You are a blight upon this House, more akin to carrion on the path than a leader of the hunt.”_ Skadi rebuked. “ _Thus, your life is forfeit.”_

_“ **We hereby name** **Theodore Acacius Morholt Agni the true Lord Nott, appointed by the patrons of his House.”**_

“ _Punishment of traitors to the House is at the Lord’s discretion.”_

**“And justice shall be wrought.”**

**_“He has our blessing.”_ **

.

The light vanished, and Viðarr opened his eyes. Distantly, he noticed that his hands were shaking, and that the cut he’d made on his arm had healed into a silvery scar that bore resemblance to the ‘ _Isa’_ rune. Images and knowledge ran rampant through his head; runes, warding, the mansion wards, bonds to House Elves, the Familie Magicks, rituals that were long since outdated and banned from practise, hunting techniques and symbols that danced in his vision. A weight set itself upon his ring finger on his right hand, and the Lordship Ring, a simple band of white crystal, resized itself to fit his finger.

“No.” the ex-Lord of House Nott shouted. “I refuse to let this…this… _whoreson_ rule my House! He is nothing more than a…” He choked, gurgling on his own blood, while Viðarr watched on dispassionately, arm red with his blood.

“I offer this kill to my patron God, Forseti. Justice has been wrought in your name.” There was a burning sensation, and Viðarr looked down at his forearm, to see the Golden Axe of Forseti shimmering into existence on his wrist. He slashed his arm at his father’s corpse, and the head rolled away from the body, Viðarr placing it in a bag used for confirming target identity (in the case it wasn’t designed to look like an accident).

Viðarr sighed, suddenly feeling very tired.

Merlin, he just wanted a nice cup of tea under a warm blanket and to cuddle with his boyfriend. Hopefully Perun was back from his mission in Denmark; it would be the perfect ending to an overall shitty weekend. The bag bounced against his hip like a volleyball, the bottom starting to turn red. There was a knock on the office door, and Viðarr felt the brush of Cloud Flames against his senses.

“Viðarr.” Slaugh touched his shoulder. “We’re ready to leave when you are.”

“Just give me a second.” Viðarr managed to get out. To his relief, it sounded steady. “Please wait outside the wards.” Slaugh nodded, and departed, calling to the others to leave the mansion.

“Kadry.” He summoned his personal elf, the Houe Elf popping into existence and bowing before him.

“Yes, Lord Nott.”

“I’m locking down the British Manse.” He informed the elf. “Please, leave and relocate to one of the other Nott estates. Now, preferably.”

“As you command.” The elf vanished, and Viðarr felt all life forms disappear from the wards. He took a deep breath, gathering his magic, and then reached out his hands, directing his magic to the ward triggers. He twisted.

.

Outside of the mansion, he appeared, stumbling a little on impact. There was an arm on his elbow, holding him up, and blonde curls in his vision. _Bel._

“It is done, then?”

“It’s finished.” Viðarr confirmed, his voice conveying his exhaustion.

“I will alert Mammon. They have finished fleecing the Wizengamot.” The Storm Officer wrapped an arm around him, hauling him towards the car they rented, Slaugh bringing up the rear.

“I’m tired.” Viðarr admitted quietly, and Bel pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, pushing him into the car.

“A man needs his rest.” They acknowledged, and shut the door. Leaning against the window, Viðarr closed his eyes, and sighed.

“ _All honour to Forseti, God of Justice, and Skadi, Goddess of the Hunt.”_ He murmured under his breath.

.

In the distance, a wolf howled.

.

.

 **I CALL THE SHO-SHO-SHOTS!!** **(don’t act like you forgot)-** **_ilanit.harary_**

(Tsuna takes a leaf out of Reborn’s book)

.

A shot rang out.

.

Don Rosario froze, a thin trickle of blood creeping down the side of his face.

Tsuna felt calm, calmer than he should have, considering what this _asshole_ had just commented on.

‘ _Hyper Dying Will Mode.”_ Someone whispered. Ah, that might explain it.

“Explain to me, flower boy, _why_ you felt it necessary to insult my Lightning Guardian?” His voice was colder than Zero Point, and everyone on the room shivered.

“The Bovino boy…”

“ _Miura-san_ is my Lightning Guardian.” Tsuna corrected, feeling his jaw twitch in irritation.

“That bitch isn’t worthy to wield the Vongola rings!”

Tsuna stared down Don Rosario over the barrel of his pistol, and pulled back the hammer, the bullet chambered with a satisfying ‘click’.

“Wrong answer.”

He fired again, the bullet grazing the opposite side of Don Rosario’s face. He clicked his tongue. He was aiming to take of the ear as punishment for not listening the first time. He would have to ask Reborn to help him brush up on his aim.

“Tsunayoshi…” Nono began, and Tsuna _growled._

“ _I am done playing nice._ You continue to insult my Guardians, regardless of warnings. Next time you do so, your men will be finding your body at the bottom of that very fancy pool you just installed.”

Don Rosario paled, and Tsuna made a mental note to thank Ryohei for that particular piece of gossip. Apparently, one of the maid’s brother-in-law’s cousins had been complaining about the poor wages and bad working conditions (his Sun Guardian was beloved by all the staff, and was often up at the same time, if not earlier, than them).

Don Rosario opened his mouth, Tsuna narrowed his eyes.

“If the next words out of your foul mouth are not an apology, flower boy, I don’t want to hear it.” He snapped. “I expect a formal written apology on my Lightning Guardian’s desk by the end of the week. If there isn’t, my Sun will come knocking.”

Hopefully, Ryohei will break a few walls. The Rosario Villa was so ugly, it could use some renovations.

“But that’s only two days away!” Rosario protested. Tsuna smiled his ‘ _Reborn-Xanxus-Nana’_ smile – the one that was reserved for making people wet themselves due to the unholy mixture of Reborn’s sadism, Xanxus’ bloodlust and his mother’s uncaring attitude. Rosario trembled before him.

“Then you’d better start writing, Don Rosario. Dismissed.”

Rosario fled, his men on his heels, and the door slammed shut behind him.

“Tsunayoshi….”

“You told me this morning, Vongola Nono,’ Tsuna began, fixing his predecessor with a steely glare and lowering his gun, ‘that I needed to start taking more responsibility for the Alliance. This is me laying out the terms for that. Either they respect my Guardians, or they get shot. It’s entirely up to them.”

“Tsuna-fishy, perhaps Haru-chan….”

“ _Be silent.”_ Tsuna hissed at his sperm donor, Flames sparking along the barrel of his gun and his fist. “Haru is _mine!_ End of discussion. If that was all you wanted, you can see yourselves out. I have work to do.”

He turned his back on them, placing the pistol on the table and picking up his pen, scanning the nearest document. He could still feel them in the room, but eventually, the two men left, his sperm donor grumbling under his breath.

.

“Impressive.” Reborn purred, dropping down from the ceiling. “Most impressive, Vongola Decimo.”

Tsuna spared his old tutor and now friend a look, frowning as he looked at the accounts from the CEDEF and noticing that they went over budget, _again_.

“You’re the one who wanted me to grow a spine, _Renato._ ” Tsuna replied, leaning back into his chair and meeting the hitman’s eyes squarely after he’d signed off the form. He made a mental note to investigate the CEDEF’s expenses for the next quarter.

“Indeed I did.” Reborn agreed, draping himself over the back of Tsuna’s chair in such a way that it meant that Reborn’s mouth was right next to Tsuna’s ear.

“And it is made of steel.” Reborn whispered hotly into his ear. Tsuna resisted the urge to move, instead opting to hand the hitman a thin manila folder.

“I have an assignment for you, if you would be so kind. The Sacco Familigia had visitors from one of the Spanish cartels last week. I want to know if there was a deal signed.”

“And if there was?” Reborn asked, curious. His breath caught when Tsuna turned around, eyes flickering orange.

“Wipe them out.”

“As you wish, Decimo.”

.

.

 **In my skin-tight jeans (be a teenage dream tonight)** - ** _bookimp_**

Bel takes Xanxus on a date (of sorts)

The note said ‘ _Fontana Pretoria, 11am. Dress civilian.’_

.

Bel hoped that Xanxus owned clothes that didn’t have the VARIA crest on them (they despised shopping), and they were familiar enough with Xanxus’ wardrobe to know that the majority of his clothes were uniforms or standard issue clothing for off duty. That was why Bel never bothered to try and steal his hoodies- they were exactly the same as theirs.

They shifted, the tight black jeans clinging tight to their body, offset by the loose navy button-up shirt. Their feet, thankfully, were in cased in low leather boots (and the VARIA bootmaker had merely smiled when they had made their request) that were comfy, so Bel had been able to avoid Lussuria foisting ridiculously high heels on them. And the skirt. And the dumb push-up bra. And the low cut top (Lussuria had somehow managed to undo enough buttons to let a glimpse of Bel’s (unfortunately necessary) red bra, but it was hot enough that Bel wasn’t complaining.

Their head felt light, considering that they had forgone the crown today, and the only accessories was a pair of black glasses, a dragon necklace and a watch. Bel was aware of the many admiring looks they received ( _bow before me, peasants_ ), but ignored them, happy for the moment to stay in the shade of the _Palazzo Bonocore._ There were a lot of tourists around, but Bel didn’t mind as much; more people to blend in with. They had already checked out the obvious sniper spots, and then the VARIA Quality sniper posts, then all the little nooks and tiny holes where people would be able to hide and then slip out and knife you in the back.

Bel checked their watch.

_11:54am_

They looked up, and a familiar figure stepped into the plaza from the opposite side to them.

.

Oh.

_Oh shit._

.

Xanxus _did_ own something other than uniforms, good to know.

.

But those black jeans were positively _sinful_ , in the way they clung to his thighs and…the booty. Paired with a white button up with the top three buttons loose, leather shoes and a navy blazer….Bel suddenly felt very hot, and it wasn’t due to the summer heat. Everyone around them weren’t entirely indifferent to Xanxus’ ridiculous good looks; he drew many admiring gazes from the female, and a few of the male population as well. It was amazing that they’d managed to co-ordinate their outfits without….

Bel narrowed their eyes as they noticed that Xanxus’ blazer was the same colour as their shirt.

_Lussuria._

That damn Sun was meddling again. _Dragon_ necklace (how many times had Xanxus been called ‘ _the Dragon of Wrath’_ by enemies). _Red_ bra (also sourced from Lussuria).

Bel admired their lover (and how _good_ it felt to call him that) for a few moments, before they stepped out of the shadows and moved towards the fountain they had agreed to meet at. It was still earlier than planned, but Bel didn’t mind.

“Xanxus.”

His head snapped around to catch her gaze, and Bel was not blind to the sudden flash of lust. Clearly, Lussuria knew what they were doing. They were forgiven.

“Bel.” Xanxus greeted, looming over them, grabbing a hand and bringing it up to his lips. Bel fought the urge to blush, but could feel pink rising on their cheeks. It only increased when Xanxus turned their hand over and pressed a kiss to the inside of their wrist.

“Shall we?” His voice was a smooth purr, and it made Bel want to _do_ things to their lover, only halted by the fact that they were in public. It was unfair.

Bel laced their fingers through his, and tugged him towards the exit of the plaza.

“Come. I was promised gelato last time and got a blood bath, so I can’t complain, but I _really_ want gelato today, and there’s a good place that Yosei recommended.”

“By all means, lead the way.” He deferred, and Bel resisted the urge to grin. It was going to be a good day.

.

After eating _a lot_ of gelato and walking along the _Promenada Palermo_ hand-in-hand, Bel could almost have fooled themselves into thinking that they were a couple of lovestruck teenagers and not internationally famed assassins, out enjoying a date and the sea views and the clear blue skies, away from the storm clouds perpetually swirling around the CEDEF. There were people laughing, Xanxus had managed to kiss them on the cheek five times so far within two hours (which meant he was getting better at displaying public affection out of his VARIA life, progress), and they’d stopped for coffee and mocked fashion choices in German.

It was getting later in the afternoon now, and they were both starting to flag, having been consistently checking blind spots and being on watch for assassins who would try and take them out. Bel had started leaning into their Sky, soaking in the ambient Flames he constantly emitted, and Xanxus’ hands were starting to drift towards his guns every time there was a particularly loud noise. Bel was ready to call it a day, and could feel that Xanxus felt the same way, when it happened.

.

Already on edge, Bel dodged the first bullet, shoving themselves away from their Sky and rolling to the ground.

They didn’t dodge the second one.

.

Metal embedded itself into their upper arm, and Bel bit down on a scream, throwing themselves behind cover. A second later, another bullet chipped the plaster next to their other arm, and Bel jerked back, their Flames already working on Disintegrating the bullet stuck in their arm. Hot blood dripped down their fingers, and Bel winced, applying as much pressure as they could to try and stop the bleeding. They could already feel themselves heating up from fever…no. _No._

That was the Wrath Flames that were now blanketing the entire port. Bel risked a second to glance up at where they had last seen their Sky, and their jaw dropped.

Xanxus wasn’t just emitting his ‘ _I-am-pissed’_ Wrath Flames. He was _radiating_ wrath like it was going out of style. Bel could see the concrete blistering and popping like burning skin, cracks forming in the road.

He drew his guns.

“ _Trash.”_

.

“So, aside from being shot at, how did the date go?” Lussuria asked, pointedly ignoring the pacing Sky in the corner. Bel, sitting on an examination bed, sighed.

“At least I got gelato this time.”

“Mm.” Lussuria hummed, Sun Flames dancing along their arms. “Maybe you should stay in for a movie night instead. Less risk of running into trouble.”

“I don’t go looking for trouble.” Bel grumbled. “Trouble usually finds me.”

.

.

.

**Hello darkness (my old friend)**

(Because we forgot about this loose end)

.

They called him Marino, because he came from the sea.

.

Washed up in the early morning tides, blood still oozing from a cut on his head. The old lady Mirta said that he was lucky to be alive; the waters were infested with sharks this time of year. Lucky to miss the rocks lining the harbour. One of the fisherman’s children had found him, and thought him dead, but his heart was still beating strongly in his chest. His jacket was shredded, the emblem too worn to be recognizable, and although his boots were of fine quality, there was no makers mark.

He lay still, recovering for a week, his head spinning and his vision blurring every time he sat up. The first few nights, Mirta woke him in intervals. He recognized the signs of concussion, and concluded that someone had hit him on the head, and then tossed him into the sea. By the start of the second week, he was able to get up and help Mirta with things around the house. By the third week, he could do repairs and lift heavy things (he had training, could lift more, but who taught him? How was he able to do this?).

As time went on, he was told things. He was in a small town called Manfria, on the coast of Sicily. It was a small village, not filled with tourists and visitors just yet, as it was nearing winter. Mirta lived by herself, but had many children, and many grandchildren that she spoiled rotten. She sold blankets and quilts and small baked goods, which her children transported to the nearest big town. Marino never offered to go with them, happy to continue fixing Mirta’s house and doing the gardening and occasionally going out in the boats for fish. He still found time to go for a run on the beach (fitness was important, but he couldn’t remember _why_ ) and wrote down as much as he could remember from his ‘past life’. It wasn’t a lot, and Marino got frustrated at his lack of progress.

He was able to read, write and speak Italian, Japanese, Sicilian, English and Spanish, but couldn’t think of a job where five languages might be required. Was he a translator? A tour guide? A school teacher? Or did he just like languages? He was a good shot, as evidenced by when he went hunting with Mirta’s second son, his friend and his friend’s cousin. He could fix electrical issues (which made him popular with the locals when a thunderstorm knocked out the power), handled knives with the ease of long practise…none of it was adding up.

It all came to a head the night some young hotheads belonging to the Manco Familigia ( _not Alliance,_ a voice whispered, _too weak_ ) terrorized the town. They first broke into the bar, then proceeded to trash homes as they went, raucous in the way that drunks are, shouting and yelling slurs and throwing rocks and threatening with knives. They made the mistake of breaking the windows of Mirta’s small, modest house (Mirta screamed and hide under the table as glass scattered everywhere), and then the shouts came closer.

.

The door was smashed inward, the lead youth swaggering in with all the confidence of a rooster and the temperament of a particularly foul horse. Marino, standing in the doorway of the small room Mirta had let him stay in, frowned, but took a step backwards, hiding in the shadows. He had been about to go to bed, Mirta trying to finish a quilt for her granddaughter.

The youth lunged under the table and dragged Mirta out, heedless of the glass that cut her hands and legs. Mirta was old. She was capable of household chores and short hours of gardening, but she could not break the grip of a mafia bred princeling. He taunted her, opening a flick knife and stabbing it through the quilt, telling the others to rip it apart because it was hideous. He ignored Mirta’s pleas for him to stop, for all of them to stop, she hadn’t done anything wrong, and knocked the dish rack off the bench, the plates shattering on the floor and crunching underneath his boots.

Marino had had enough.

“Stop.” He ordered, steel infusing his voice and making all of them pause.

“Who the fuck are you? The bitch should be living alone.” The leader blustered, a red flush creeping up his neck at being caught.

“You should leave now.” Marino told him, eyes narrow. The other boys (some of them still carrying traces of baby fat) arranged themselves behind their leader, the ones who had ripped the quilt still holding pitiful flick-knives and sloppy stance, hiding behind false bravado.

(He’d sparred with a little blonde demon once. He wondered who it was).

“Oh yeah?” One of the minions sneered, unsheathing a serrated knife. It was poor quality (not _Quality)_ and Marino resisted the urge to scoff. Pathetic.

“Whatcha gonna do about it, old man.”

Old man?

_Old man?_

_This bitch…._

Marino shot forward, punching one to the floor and slamming his palm into the chest of another, feeling ribs shift and crack under the pressure. The third fell victim to a vicious kick to his knee, while another rushed him, waving the knife and slashing at his neck. Marino dodged, the point coming dangerously close to his face.

Another youth threw the rock he’d been holding. Marino, occupied with the knife-wielder, didn’t see it.

The rock hit his head, and he dropped. Mirta screamed. Marino closed his eyes.

.

Raijin opened his eyes, and twisted, sweeping the attackers off their feet and grabbing the knife. Green sparked over his skin, and he growled, furious. It all came back; Levi ignoring orders and stating that they were to patrol the riverside, only to turn and shoot Kidlat in the forehead and stab Burak in the chest with his parasols, unleashing a fatal voltage of Lightning. Raijin, knowing he was next (he’d been _careful_ , dammit, but his meetings with Kidlat, Dumisa and Burak must have been noticed) threw himself out of reach of Elicius’ flashing machete and into the river. He was thankful that Levi was too stupid to think about electrocuting the water, or maybe the fact that _someone_ would notice, but either way, he was unlucky enough to hit his head against a pier on his way downstream. How the fuck he got to _Manfria_ , when he had been in _Syracuse_ , without drowning or being eaten by sharks or drifting out _into the middle of the fucking ocean_ or being run over by a cruise liner or _something?_ Maybe he had subconsciously been making himself Hard to Kill?

.

“ _Bastardo!”_ Ah, yes, the morons. He’d better deal with them.

The flick-knife idiot charged him. He side-stepped and slammed his knee up into the welp’s groin, Knife-boy going white and wheezing, curled up into a ball. Raijin dodged the bullet that the leader fired at him, pivoting on his foot and snapping the other leg out to catch the leader in the chest, making it Harder than usual. That kick was followed up by a particularly brutal sick-kick to the thigh, bone shattering under the force. The leader cried out as he fell to the ground, trembling in fear as Raijin loomed over him.

“Who are you?” The leader whimpered, leg broken and body sliced from the glass. Raijin smiled, more akin to a wolf baring its teeth.

“ _Raijin_.”

Green sparked.

.

He’d taken his leave from Mirta and the town, and the nice people. He didn’t belong there, not when his hands were stained with blood. Mirta had cried, and begged him to visit, and he found himself conceding. He made a mental note to put Manfria under VARIA protection; the stupid Manco clearly not doing a good job. He’d made the trek from that small village to Gela, where he’d caught a bus that took him right into the heart of Vongola Territory. Then, he’d walked to the VARIA HQ.

He stared up at the big doors, taking a deep breath to centre himself. If his traitorous Officer was still around, he would be the first person on his list to kill. But first, he’d have to visit either Boss or Officer Superbi to be declared un-dead and back on duty. Ugh, what a mess. Briefly, he wondered if Lei and Dumisa were still around. He was glad that his partner hadn’t been on that mission (because Raijin was good, but he couldn’t have saved Dumisa, just like he couldn’t have saved Burak and Kidlat). There was nothing for it. He’d have to go inside.

.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of Officer Levi’s Flames pressing down on the whole building.

The second thing was a very familiar Storm signature, belonging to the no-longer-missing Officer Belphegor.

The third thing was a tall African man slamming into him and crushing him into a bear hug.

“Holy shit! Raijin!”

Ah, it was Dumisa. Figured. Raijin returned the hug just as tightly, resisting the urge to cry. It had been a shit few months.

Fuck it.

Hot tears slipped down his face and soaked into Dumisa’s jacket.

“Dumisa.” Raijin choked out. “I’m so sorry, Burak and Kidlat…”

Dumisa shushed him, pulling away and giving him a grin so bright it was almost blinding.

“You’re back! Bronte and Lei will be pleased. Oh! I have to introduce you to our new Officer!”

“New Officer?” Raijin repeated, a little dazed and so very, very tired.

“You’ll like him.” Dumisa assured. “Complete opposite of Levi. Scary smart as well, but helpful. Perun made Administrator under his leadership, and we started new lessons…”

Raijin let his partner’s voice wash over him, nodding in the right places, overwhelmed by the feelings of everyone’s Flames signatures and the all-encompassing Sky laced between them.

.

He was home.

.

.

.

**Too hot (hot damn)**

(If this were an anime, it would be the token fan service episode)

.

It had been in summer.

Xanxus had notified his Guardians of his plans, and they had all saved up their holiday hours (so many missions, sometimes they didn’t see each other for weeks), and then applied for two weeks off during the hottest part of summer. Bel and Viðarr had spent two days arguing over which safehouse they could use (something about location and aesthetics), Bel arguing that the Black properties were more heavily warded and in better locations, Viðarr arguing for space. Bel eventually won out, offering a Black villa on a secluded island a few miles off the coast of Vulcano, with beaches to die for and _well-maintained_ buildings and wards against outsiders and _sharks,_ Viðarr, Squalo excluded.

Xanxus had conceded to bringing a plus one at Mammon’s request (because Fon never got a break from the Triads, and the VARIA Boss _liked_ Fon), and that led to Perun submitting his application for holidays, followed by Hibari showing up the night before they left without a word, small bag packed and ready to go, taking the total number up to 10.

Squalo borrowed (stole and left a note) a sailing yacht from his uncle, and they were off on the early tide, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon as they left the port. Bel didn’t remember much of the trip, sleeping after watching the dawn in a very comfy hammock below deck (because the Superbi believed in _authenticity_ of a sailing experience) with Mammon curled up in the one opposite, maintaining a Mist Ward over them to avoid sea patrols and the Superbi, but Slaugh came downstairs to rouse them both as soon as they landed.

From then on out, it was days of lazing on the beach, _sleep-ins_ , idyllic activites, watching Squalo try fishing and curse when Mammon simply waved a hand and teleported some right out of the ocean, long moonlit walks on the beach (the last was just Bel and Xanxus, he was a hopeless romantic) and _good food_ because they all had standards and everyone knew how to cook because they were _Quality_ (Lussuria had once gone undercover as a chef. It was hard to meet their standards).

It got better, or worse, depending on the point of view.

See, for 9 assassins and 1 Cloud Guardian, lazing about and relaxing on a beach, while fun for the first few of days, meant that they got bored, and starting looking for physical activity. It started with runs in the pre-dawn light, then again at dusk, then swimming as far out to the wards as possible and back several times. Then climbing the cliffs with no harnesses, because ‘ _voi, why not?’_

That was when Bel started cursing whomever owned the yacht, because there were _volleyball nets._

Which meant that, because they were all stupidly competitive (including Viðarr, who was happy to laze around and do nothing on most days), volleyball matches became a _thing._ Which meant that those of the male persuasion permanently abandoned shirts. Not that Bel was complaining about that, they quite enjoyed the view. It just meant….distraction.

Too much distraction.

As evidenced by the ball Bel had received to the face for shamelessly ogling their boyfriend when he executed a flawless jump serve. Several times. They were, however, gratified to note that it wasn’t just them; Slaugh had been nailed just as much, Perun once, and _Fon_ four times.

Xanxus, the annoyingly handsome bastard, had fast enough reflexes to recover (if he’d been distracted at all), and Squalo and Lussuria just laughed at them all and spiked harder.

Which led to Bel’s current dilemma; not playing, but watching. It was three on three; Xanxus, Mammon and Squalo vs. Hibari, Fon and Lussuria. Currently, Lussuria’s team was winning, due to Fon and Hibari making it a competition to do the most complicated acrobatics, while Lussuria egged them on. Xanxus and Squalo were demonstrating excellent teamwork, as usual, while Mammon simply…appeared to be in the right place at the right time, walking on the shifting sand as easily as concrete. Bel called bullshit and Mist trickery.

It was still ridiculously hot, and Bel and Slaugh had retired to the lounge chairs under the shade of an umbrella to re-apply sunscreen. Perun and Viðarr had disappeared to get drinks, but Bel didn’t count on them being back for a while.

No, Bel had other things on their mind. Such as, the impressive figure their lover made, shirtless and tanned and _muscular_. The ripple of muscle under skin was as fascinating as it was hot, and Bel felt in desperate need of a fan. Just the way Xanxus _moved_ in general was striking, and Bel found that they could barely turn their eyes away from him.

“You’re drooling.” Slaugh commented, pausing in the application of an entire bottle of sunscreen to her arms.

“ _Fuck me._ ” Bel exhaled, breathy, as they traced the movement of a sweat droplet over Xanxus’ impressive abs and trailing over the ‘v’, only for it to disappear beneath…

“Bel!” Slaugh clicked her fingers, impatient. “You need to put sunscreen on or you’ll burn.”

“I’m already burning.” Bel mumbled, and Slaugh sighed, squeezing a dollop of the cream onto the back of Bel’s neck and rubbing it in.

“Pathetic, the two of you.”

“As if you weren’t ogling at Hibari the moment he stepped out of the boy’s rooms with no shirt on.” Bel snarked, catching the hint of a blush rising on Slaugh’s face, before they focused on their lover once more as he set for Squalo, biceps flexing.

Oh god, they couldn’t take much more. He was so effortlessly _attractive_ , like an Adonis that basically walked straight out of the ocean. He ran his hands through his hair, profile sharp against the backdrop of the endless blue sea, and Bel swooned. Xanxus caught their eye, and winked at them, a sinful smirk tugging at his lips.

_Shit._

They were going straight to hell.

Bel reached over, and grabbed a popsicle from the icebox.

.

Two could play this game.

.

.

.

**HAVE YOU EVER SEEEEEEN THE RAIN? (I wanna know)**

(Squalo and Takeshi should never be on mission together)

.

It was a mission that would never be recorded. If any of the higher-ups were asked, they would deny it. The mission never happened. It did not exist.

.

The Santoni Familigia had been, on paper, a model to society. Their businesses were legitimate, employees well paid and taken care of, their records squeaky clean.

Too clean.

Tsuna and Gokudera were, naturally, suspicious. So they asked Shamal to investigate. Shamal, still a freelancer and not associated with Vongola, agreed. He was there for three months with no words. Everything was fine, no need to overreact, sure you weren’t just imagining things, Decimo? Four months passed, and Shamal started to get suspicious.

Five months. A girl from one of the housekeeping families went missing.

Six months. Two bodies were found in a dumpster behind a storehouse. No investigation took place.

Seven months. Shamal alerted them that three assassination attempts were made. They all failed.

Eight months.

Nine months.

Ten months. No word from Shamal.

And now, at the end of the eleventh month since the doctor went in, Tsuna contacted VARIA, and specifically asked for Squalo. Takeshi was recalled from a previous assignment. They were summoned to Tsuna’s office in the early hours of the morning, when all of Housekeeping were asleep, and verbally assigned the mission.

Get in, recover Shamal. Get out. Kill anyone who gets on your way. Burn it down.

.

They met up with Chrome and the Alice/Jabberwock duo; the Mists were tasked with finding any information and transporting it to the VARIA archives to sort it. Lightning Lei was bringing the explosives. It was three missions. They were not to overlap. They would not speak of this to anyone. Own transport. No comms. Could not be linked back to Vongola or VARIA.

.

Squalo and Takeshi took Takeshi’s motorbike (the one Tsuna didn’t know about because he constantly _worried_ ), parking a few blocks down from the main complex and walking the rest of the way there, disguised as maintenance workers (Haru was a genius with disguises). They slipped in the back, and made their way through the building, eyes peeled for any hint of Shamal. Everything was clean and shiny, and it made Squalo think of hospitals, complete with the smell of bleach and old blood. As an assassin, he was well-acquainted with both smells on the regular. Beside him, Takeshi scanned the walls, eyes narrowed at the displays of elaborate art and pictures.

“I can’t sense him.” He whispered, and Squalo resisted the urge to curse. He should have stolen Pyry or Janus; they were the best sensors in the VARIA. He couldn’t pick up on anything either, which meant that Shamal was either in a basement or Warded behind Flame blockers. If the Santoni were smart, they would have done the latter; Shamal may have been an asshole, but he was talented, and if he hadn’t been a prick in regards to who he treated, VARIA would have offered him a contract years ago, if not outright hired him. It didn’t mean that Squalo _liked_ him, however- he was still bitter over the fact that Shamal had refused to help Lussuria treat his Sky post-defrosting, on the basis that he was a _man_ \- but he could respect the freelancer. He did some good work.

“ _Taicho._ ” Takeshi poked him in the side, other hand gesturing at a section of wall that looked normal enough, but on closer inspection, there were slight gouge marks in the floor, and the handle on one of the torches lining the hallway was too polished.

“A secret passage, voi?” He muttered, wrinkling his nose in distaste. That was plain tacky.

“The Doctor is behind there, but…lower. I can only barely sense him.”

“Restraining cuffs, voi. They block Flame usage. I’ll show you some when we get back.”

Takeshi opened the door, a smaller knife drawn. Squalo pulled out a flashlight (VARIA special, had a small knife on the opposite end of the light) and turned it on, venturing into the dark corridor first, Takeshi shutting the door behind him.

“Ditch the disguise.” Squalo ordered, stripping the overalls off. “We won’t need them.”

“But, the exit…”

“Shamal is down here, voi?”

“ _Hai, taicho._ ”

“Two maintenance workers carrying out a body is suspicious, voi. Getting in was the easy part. Getting out is always the hardest.” Takeshi hurried to obey, tossing the overalls into a dark corner and gesturing towards the corridor.

“Let’s hurry. I don’t know how long until someone comes to look.” Squalo followed his fellow swordsman, the younger Rain leading him unerringly through the many twists and turns, Squalo memorizing the paths they took. It was a few minutes before they reached a suspiciously large door with a complicated electronic lock, and Takeshi seemed to deflate.

“He’s behind here, but…”

“Step aside, voi.” Squalo eyed the lock, the door, and then finally, the wall beside it. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, placing a hand against the wall and calling up his Tertiary Storm Flames. He didn’t use them often simply because….

“ _Taicho,_ you’re hand!” Takeshi exclaimed, and Squalo winced as his Flames licked around his wrist, scorching him. Splitting his focus, he used his Rain to Tranquilize the area, numbing it, even as his hand pushed through the wall, the brick crumbling easily.

“Voi, start breaking it.” Takeshi kicked out at the hole, widening the gaps as Squalo focused more on disintegrating the cement holding the bricks rather than the bricks themselves. The wall crumbled easily, and Takeshi dove through the gap, stopping dead at the sight of Shamal strung up like a particularly gruesome crucifixion; arms spread wide by the cuffs holding his wrists, and feet chained to the wall, head lolling forward.

“Voi, Shamal.” Squalo breathed, darting forward to pick at the locks that kept the Mist suspended in mid-air. “What a mess you got yourself into.”

“Not by choice.” Shamal wheezed out, surprising Squalo with the fact that he was still conscious, and not even protesting when Takeshi caught him.

“ _Taicho,_ we need to leave. Now. The building could blow at any second.”

“Wait, the building….”

“A certain Sky was most displeased about your disappearance, Shamal. You’ve been missing for three months.” Squalo grunted, hefting Shamal over his shoulder and heading towards the exit. “That’s all we can say.”

“Off the books, then?”

“Yep!” Takeshi replied cheerfully, slinging the wooden sword over his shoulder and opening the passageway, holding the door open for Squalo. They had just exited the door and shut it, when two men walked around the corner, both parties freezing at the sight of each other. Takeshi moved first, blurring out of existence, and then appearing behind the two men as they dropped to the floor, choking on their own blood.

“Voi, to the exit.” Squalo ordered. “Brat, lead the way. Shamal, try to stay awake.”

“I’ll try.”

“ _Taicho._ ” Takeshi nodded, and sped on ahead, bouncing off the wall to flip over another man and behead him. Squalo hurried, mind calculating the quickest exits and times, trying not to focus on how skinny Shamal was and the ribs he could feel poking into his shoulder. Did they even feed him? Or had Shamal resorted to eating his own bugs and Mist-tricking his body into believing that it had been fed? Either way, he needed to get to Lussuria, ASAP.

Takeshi slammed open the exit, Squalo hot on his heels, and they both skidded to a stop, coming face to face with what seemed to be the entirety of the Santoni Familigia’s private army.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the Rain Guardian, and Squalo Superbi.” An oily man stepped forward, Shamal twitching at the sound of his voice. Squalo gritted his teeth. They’d been recognized, had been seen by a lot of people, and the Head of the Santoni, no less. That meant a lot of people to kill.

“You never saw us.” Takeshi laced his words with Mist, and it was an impressive trick (that reeked of Mukuro), but on a crowd that size, it barely worked for a few seconds.

“Kill them.” Don Santoni ordered, and Squalo sighed, dumping Shamal on the ground (ignoring the protest and the swearing) and pulled out the necklace Bel had given him ages ago ( _It’s called a Portkey,_ Bel explained, _it will transport you to VARIA medical, with the correct codeword)_. He looped it around Shamal’s neck, making sure it was on securely, and directing the Mist Doctor to grab onto it.

“ _Excalibur.”_ Squalo snapped, and Shamal disappeared. Squalo then turned to face the oncoming thugs, and released the catch on his prosthetic, the metal gleaming dully in the lamplight. Takeshi already had his sword in its live form, and seemed to be concentrating on something, eyes cast skyward. The damn brat was going to get shot…

“ _Taicho._ It’s the calm before the storm.” Takeshi stated, eyes fixing on the group of thugs.

“I know.” Squalo snapped, moving to stand next to his pseudo-apprentice.

“It’s been coming for some time.” Takeshi continued, flashing him a slightly maniac grin as bloodlust started to rise. “When it’s over, so they say, it will rain a sunny day.”

Squalo stared, uncomprehending.

A drop of rain landed on his face. Two. Three.

“I know.” Squalo grinned back, mind finally connecting the dots, and tilting his sword towards the attackers.

“ _Shining down like water.”_ Takeshi sang, dating forward to rush his attackers, Squalo right behind him deflecting bullets as they hit the front line, his blade slicing the throat of Don Santoni.

“ _And I wanna know!”_ Squalo belted out, sword flashing in the lamplight and beheading a couple of goons.

“ _Have you ever seeeeen the Rain?”_ Takeshi joined him, his feet dodging bullets and dead bodies with ease.

“ _I wanna know!”_ They chorused, back to back and both grinning like lunatics.

“ _Have you ever seen the rain?”_ Thunder rumbled across the sky, and the rain became a torrential downpour. Takeshi shouted in delight, sword beginning the movement for his family style, the air thick with bloodlust and anticipation. Squalo grinned, and shook his head, long hair hanging like limp, silvery seaweed around his shoulders.

“Voi! Save some for me!”

There was an explosion that rumbled underneath their feet, followed by a series of detonations that progressively got louder and larger. The roof of the main building blew off, and crashed down somewhere to Squalo’s left, sending dust and plaster into the air. There was a flash of green that indicated Lei was making his way out of the wreckage, and a bloom of indigo that meant the Mists had finished their jobs.

“Voi! Brat! Time to finish up!” Takeshi nodded, and his sword flashed faster, Squalo picking up his own pace, falling into a haze of dodging and killing, the ground slippery and treacherous beneath his feet, and water soaking through his uniform, probably ruining the leather (Lussuria would scold him for it later). Blood sprayed into the air, onto his face, his uniform, dripped down his sword, ran in rivers into the storm drains and gutters, pooled beneath the bodies that continued to fall to the sword. A bullet lodged itself ricocheted off his prosthetic and back to the man who shot at him, and lightning flashed, crackling across the sky and hitting one of the buildings, setting it on fire.

And then there was silence, or perhaps the complete absence of sound, bar his own breathing and heartbeat.

.

“ _Coming down on a sunny day.”_

.

Dawn broke over the ruins of what was left of the Santoni Familigia, staining swords the same colour as the fresh blood that was dripping off them. Leaning against the only wall that was still standing, the two Rains watched the sun rise, the ruins smoking behind them.

“Voi.” Squalo sighed, gaze fixed on the sea.

“ _Hai._ ” Takeshi agreed, closing his eyes and letting the sea breeze caress his face and ruffle his hair.

Their hands were bloody, there were no survivors. But it was moments like these, that they could have peace.

.

.

.

 **I seem to find the happiness I seek (dancing cheek to cheek)-** **_a7152966_**

.

The three assassins standing in front of him had seemed nervous, but determined. Xanxus still wasn’t quite sure that he’d heard properly.

“A what?”

“A ball!” The youngest looking one, Tychon (Cloud? Mist? Xanxus couldn’t tell) bounced on their toes.

“Why?” Xanxus wanted to know, still confused.

“Only the Boss and his Officers are allowed to go to the Vongola one.” Sahar (that one was a Sun) pointed out. “The rest of us don’t get opportunities to dance in a controlled setting. Most of the time it’s on missions, and that’s always complicated.”

“So we thought,’ Mubiru rumbled, ‘that we hold one here, just for the VARIA. No outsiders, no _politics_ , just fun.”

“An excuse to let your hair down, as it were?” Xanxus confirmed. It was…actually a good idea. The Vongola Solstice celebrations were as stuffy and tedious as they got, and he rarely got to enjoy actually dancing. Plus, his assassins rarely did get to have fun, without the pressure of a mission weighing down on them. But first…

“Alright.” He agreed, smirking a little. “But you have to clear it past Mammon first. Budget, other expenses, you name it. A solid plan, location and a concrete date is needed by Saturday next week. Or it’s not happening. Clear?”

The three snapped to attention.

“Yes, Boss!” The chorused, and Tychon bolted out the door, Mubiru following them slowly. Sahar remained in his office, shifting uncomfortably.

“Yes, Sahar?”

“The Varia Ladies would like to attend this event free of VARIA dress code.” Sahar stated, eyes staring straight ahead, and Xanxus frowned, before…

“You really think that I’d make the Varia Ladies dress in _uniform_ for this?” He asked, incredulous.

“VARIA guidelines state that no female….”

“Sahar.” Xanxus interrupted, eyebrows raised. “ _Three_ of my Officers are biologically female. My Sun Officer identifies as female. My Storm…it’s a little complicated at the moment. I am well aware of who will be attending in a dress, if this goes through. I’m not going to stop anyone wearing what they want. Although…” he trailed off, and fixed Sahar with a stern look. “Keep it formal. No crazy outfits, nothing too short.”

“You got it, Boss.” Sahar smiled at them, and swept out of the office, beaming. Xanxus leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. He couldn’t wait to see what happened.

.

.

Mammon cleared it.

.

_Mammon cleared it._

And gave them a rather generous budget. Sun took over location planning with a fervour that was more suited to an emergency surgery or a flu endemic than a ball, commandeering one of the biggest ballrooms because ‘ _we have them, might as well use them’_. Bel, being a _‘proper Prince, peasant, so I know better than you do’_ dragged the rest of Storm into planning the food, tables, seating arrangements, _flower arrangements_. Lightning and Rain were set to do the heavy lifting, while Squalo sent out feelers to the various assassins who had some skill in music because ‘ _Voi! We are Quality, some of you must know how to play proper music’_. Mist were in charge of ‘Acquisitions’, which probably meant they were ‘borrowing’ decorations for Sun to use. Cloud was….doing something, but there was a sudden increase of mission reports crossing his desk, and patrols had stepped up, dragging those who were not interested in party planning into making sure no news of this got out to anyone.

Xanxus just sat back and enjoyed the chaos, discreetly penning an invite to Fon and Hibari. He wasn’t going to have his Mist and Cloud moping for the whole thing. Besides, Hibari was Quality, whether he was VARIA or not, and if Xanxus was capable of holding two Storms without them tearing each other apart, he knew that he would have bonded with Fon _years_ ago.

.

Xanxus tugged at his tie, frowning, and trying to loosen it until it was comfortable, when a thought occurred to him. He wasn’t at Vongola, this was a _VARIA Ball_.

Therefore, he didn’t have to adhere to Vongola standards.

Grinning, he tossed the dinner jacket over his chair, and got rid of the tie, unbuttoning the top two buttons on his deep red shirt, before running a hand through his hair and deliberately mussing it. _Showtime_.

.

There was apparently a precedent that a VARIA Boss opened with his SIC. This hadn’t been a problem at the first VARIA ball, simply because a) there had only been one Ball before this and b) the very first VARIA SIC and been a woman (and the Cloud Officer) while the Boss had been her Sky.

It meant, however, that _Squalo_ was opening with Xanxus.

Xanxus, feeling in a particularly good mood, allowed Squalo to pick the song.

Squalo, being a little bitch, tossed his hair, fluttered his eyelashes, and requested the slow waltz that they had danced to, ‘ _that fateful night at the Vongola ball, after we first bonded’*_.

It started off as a joke, but as the song went on, Squalo’s Flames thrumming happily and the bond a pleased and content hum in the back of his mind, Xanxus slowly lost the humorous edge to his smile, thoughts running rampant through his head.

It had barely been a year since Squalo and Lussuria and Mammon had broken him out of the Iron Fort and defrosted him. Eight months since Slaugh had first arrived. Just over 6 months since they had managed to rescue Bel, and pick up Viðarr and Alice. So much had happened in that short amount of time; Ring Battles, VARIA being grounded, the stupid future thing, breaking the Arcobaleno Curse, Mammon becoming an adult…and through it all, the steady presence of his Rain, either beside him or at his back.

It made sense, it _felt right_ , that he was not only opening the VARIA Ball with his SIC, but also his first Guardian, his first _friend_.

Squalo picked up on his pensive mood, and met his eyes.

“Voi, Boss, what…?” He sounded startled, and his flesh hand came up to brush at Xanxus’ cheek and…oh shit, he was crying. Xanxus couldn’t speak, but shoved all his emotions along the bond; gratitude, protectiveness, appreciation, loyalty, _love._

“Voi.” His Rain replied, slowing the waltz until they stopped, sounding equally choked up. Then there were Squalo’s arms around him, and Xanxus was crushing his Rain to his chest and sobbing and _oh God he couldn’t lose anyone again_.

There was a bright flare of Sun, and Lussuria was there, the sharp edge of red was Bel, and the green flash was Viðarr followed by the seeping indigo Mist that was Mammon, and then Slaugh was pressed against his side and Viðarr was on his other side and Bel had somehow managed to wedge themself between himself and Squalo and Lussuria was squeezing arms around them and Mammon was pressed against his back and…

.

All the Elements came together under their Sky.

.

.

After the emotional (and quite embarrassing) opening, the dance floor was flooded by assassins wanting to dance. Xanxus found himself accosted by the many VARIA Ladies throughout the evening, each looking lovely in their various dresses and smiling and laughing. There was, of course, the awkwardness that often came from those of the male persuasion, along the lines of ‘ _I thought you were a guy!”_ and ‘ _Wait, you’re female?’_ , but nevertheless, the ball was going splendidly. He spotted Mammon and Fon with their heads together at one point, slow dancing. He saw Slaugh and Hibari disappear upstairs to the gallery to avoid the crowds, Viðarr and Perun were leaning against a wall, drinks in hand, and Lussuria was easily picked out, being twirled from partner to partner, the entire Sun Division drunk on wine and the emotions they picked up from everyone else. The rest of the Divisions wisely avoided Sun. Belphegor was also dancing their way through their Division, visibly teaching some assassins how to dance and whirling others around, pulling off a very impressive tango with Molan that drew cheers from those watching.

But eventually, the evening started to wind down. Xanxus’ feet were aching, in a way they hadn’t done since he used to dance with Nona at the stupid Vongola balls, and he’d been groped numerous times (in good humour) by his dance partners. He’d managed a dance with an oddly sombre Lussuria, who didn’t say anything, but sent their emotions down the Guardian bond for the entire dance, making him feel a little overwhelmed and like he was about to start crying again at the rush of gratitude and love. He hadn’t seen Slaugh or Hibari since that short glimpse (they were probably on the roof again) and Perun and Viðarr had procured couches from somewhere and were curled up on them drinking tea and coffee, other members of Lightning and some Clouds joining them. 

He heard the band announce the last song, and there was a tap to his shoulder.

“May I have the last dance?” He turned, and Belphegor stood there, resplendent in the same red gown they had worn to the Vongola Ball. Xanxus bowed, holding out a hand.

“I would be honoured, Officer Belphegor.” Bel took the hand, and they stepped onto the dancefloor, not noticing that others cleared it just as quickly.

.

Conducting the band, Dumisa grinned, and gave the signal to change the song from an upbeat one to a slow dance.

On stage, Sahar smirked, and stepped up to the microphone to sing, voice husky and low, as Lindworm on the piano started to play.

.

“ _Heaven, I’m in heaven. And my heart beats so, that I can hardly speak…”**_

.

Up in the gallery, Slaugh pressed the knife in deeper, the CEDEF plant screaming behind his gag.

“You will not ruin this, asshole.” She hissed. Beside her, Hibari eyed the one he’d knocked out, crushing the camera underneath his foot.

“Tch, herbivores.”

.

“ _And I seem to find the happiness I seek...”_

_._

On the dance floor, unaware that they were the only ones on it, Bel and Xanxus swayed together, Bel resting their head on his chest, Xanxus singing along under his breath, so softly Bel could barely hear it.

.

“ _When we’re out together, dancing cheek to cheek.”_

.

Bel closed their eyes, and smiled.

.

.

*for those of you interested, the song is ‘ _Carl Goes UP’_ by Michael Giacchino

\- This is also the same Ball that Squalo dressed in drag to be his Sky’s ‘date’.

**’ _Cheek to cheek’,_ Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong

.

.

.

**You give me fever (what a lovely way to burn)- _KKVixen_**

.

It started, as it always did.

Assassins dropping like flies in odd places, coughing.

Then, it was the fevers, the delusions, the attacks when others could no longer recognise friend from foe. No one was able to escape it. It was inevitable, unpredictable, and liable to strike at any time without given warning.

It was VARIA flu season.

.

And Xanxus had not seen his Storm Officer for over three days when one poor, bloodied soul stumbled into his office, skin red with burns, to report that his Officer had locked themselves in their rooms with instructions not to disturb, but Officer Belphegor was coughing during training on Sunday, so perhaps they had come down with something? Xanxus, peering at the assassin over his stack of mission reports and the trade agreement that Fluffy had wanted him to look at ( _if he had time, please? I don’t trust these idiots about as far as Haru could throw them)_ , had merely looked at him for a long time, completely unintimidating in a regulation hoodie, sweatpants and his new glasses (because, dammit, his eyes were still playing up) with his hair a complete mess, noting how the assassin was shivering, but was still heat-flushed and weakening at the knees.

“At ease.” He commanded softly, swearing when the assassin relaxed, too much, and then collapsed on the ground, twitching. He stood, leaving the pile of paper on his desk for later, and moved to pick up the assassin, sighing. Humming ‘ _Another One Bites the Dust’_ under his breath, he made his way down the hall to the chaos that used to be called VARIA Medical.

.

“Bel has the flu.” Xanxus told Lussuria when his Sun had paused to greet him and take the assassin off his hands. Lussuria blinked, and then gestured to the full sick-bay.

Yeah no shit, honey.” Lussuria snapped, sounding exhausted. Xanxus raised an eyebrow, and Lussuria deflated.

“Sorry, boss, but _everyone_ has the flu. I can give you antibiotics and instructions to pass onto Bel, but I honestly cannot leave the sickbay at this point in time.”

“I know, Luss.” Xanxus soothed, letting his Flames rush over his Sun and calming them down a little. “Just the antibiotics will be fine. I might ask Mammon to see if they can watch over Belphegor.”

Lussuria gave him a funny look, but rushed over to the massive medicine cabinet and grabbed a couple of bottles.

“Blue in the morning with food, yellow three times a day, also with food and water. Bel has to drink the whole glass of water, they need to stay hydrated. If they’re feverish, wrap them in a blanket and try and keep them warm. The fever goes to chills extremely quickly. May be delirious. Got all that?”

“Yes ma’am.” Xanxus mock saluted, and Lussuria hid a grin, shooing him out of their sick bay, antibiotics in hand.

“Let me know if there’s any trouble! Keep Bel isolated as much as possible!” Lussuria called after him, and he waved a hand in acknowledgment, heading towards Mammon’s quarters. The miser would be better at this than he would be, maybe they could take care of Bel.

.

Mammon stared at him with bloodshot eyes, dark rings visible, and an overall twitchy air about them.

“Xanxus, I love you like the son I have not borne, but what is the date today?” Xanxus frowned, trying to remember.

“December 30th.”He answered, and Mammon gave him a strained smile.

“What ends tomorrow?”

“The year?” Xanxus dragged out, unsure if his Mist was joking or not.

“Yes, and…?” Mammon waited expectantly, but Xanxus drew a blank. Mammon sighed, still frazzled.

“End of month, Xanxus.”

“Yes?”

“ _End of financial year, you dolt!”_ Mammon snarled, patience wearing thin. “ _I don’t have time. Sorry.”_ The door slammed shut, and Xanxus was left in the hallway, staring at the door as though it was a cute puppy that had just bitten him.

“Shit.” He swore, running a hand through his hair. Squalo was on an urgent mission extraction. Viðarr was currently out sourcing drugs for Sun and organizing the various assassins who _weren’t_ sick, so that was a no-go. Slaugh could….no. Slaugh was dealing with the sudden influx of missions and sorting through them, since Squalo wasn’t in HQ and Lussuria was busy. He knew that Slaugh had also picked up Squalo’s paperwork and riding herd on Rain while he was away, since Xanxus was dealing with Vongola ninety-five percent of the time (and Nono Vongola’s shitty demands, and Fluffy trying to keep them from killing each other) and sleeping the other 5% (or training himself into the ground when he couldn’t sleep). Alice would probably _lose_ Bel in some Territory and forget about it, Yosei had stated that she had some family issues come up and had left this morning, and most of Storm was either struck down by the flu or out on missions. Molan was somewhere in _Canada_ of all places trying to hunt down a target.

There was nothing for it.

.

He’d have to do it himself.

.

The first thing that struck him was the heat. Thankfully, the flu this season didn’t include vomit like the last two, but Lussuria had given him a list of symptoms that he could easily treat. Unfortunately, the top one on the list was passive Flame use, or what was sometimes termed as Flame Diffusion, as Flames started to escape the body via the skin cells and secretory glands. The entire room was thick with Storm Flames, and Xanxus could feel the bite on his skin. Was this why no one had thought to look for Bel for a few days? They had tried and had been dissuaded by the acidic environment? The only reason he was probably not as bad off as the messenger was due to their bond; he could feel his Sky Flames immediately Harmonizing with the Flames hanging in the room like a corrosive fog.

“Bel?” He called, scanning the room.

“Come to put me out of my misery?” came a rasping voice just at his elbow, and Xanxus spun, startled. Bel stared up at him, blanket wrapped around their shoulders, crown missing and blonde curls sticking up in spikes. There were deep bags under their eyes, and an unhealthy green tinge to their skin. They coughed, sparks of red and smoke emitting from their mouth, and Xanxus ticked another symptom off his list- wet cough, adverse Flame side-affects (Lussuria had unofficially termed it ‘dragon-cough’).

“Nurse you back to health, apparently.” Xanxus informed his Storm, voice dry and thick with amusement. Bel gave a derisive snort, swaying on their feet.

“A bullet would be better.” Xanxus raised an eyebrow, belatedly remembering his Storm’s penchant for dramatics.

“I went through a lot of work to get you out of that castle, I’m not going to shoot you six months later because of a cough.”

“Pity.” Bel muttered, before stumbling their way back to their bed and flopping on it ungracefully. “It’s hot in here. I’m hot.”

Xanxus rolled his eyes, and opened the window, letting the cool December air rush in and cleanse the stifling Flames. Bel was definitely running a fever; they were self-aware enough to know when their body had hit its limits.

“If it was hot, why didn’t you open the window before, Bel? Even some fresh air would have been better than none.” When there was no answer, Xanxus sighed, knowing this was going to be a long week (or however long it took for Bel to recover), and turned around. Bel was face down on the bed, mumbling something into their pillow.

“I didn’t hear that, Bel.”

There was silence, Bel tossing a little, before their breathing evened out abruptly, as if they’d fallen asleep. Xanxus resisted the urge to sigh again, walking over to adjust Bel’s limbs so that they wouldn’t wake up sore, when he paused, his hand hovering just over Bel’s arm. Bel had been hot before, standing next to him, but now there was no heat or Flames radiating, and there was a faint quiver to their body. No, Bel was _shivering._

_Shit._

Lussuria had said that the fever gave way to chills extremely quickly, but he didn’t think that it would be _that_ quick. Bel wasn’t just shivering, they were practically quaking with cold, moving in jerky movements. Xanxus scrambled for a blanket, cursing the fact that Bel didn’t feel the cold as much as others and therefore did not have thick blankets that were a necessity for everyone else in the draughty castle. He swore under his breath in a multitude of languages as he came up short on blankets and options, before reaching over and scooping Bel off their bed, carrying the Storm bridal style (oh, they were going to kill him for this if they ever found out). Easing his way out the door, he managed to get to his quarters without dropping his Officer, and immediately placed Bel on his couch, dragging a blanket over them, then a duvet and a few more blankets for good measure.

“Shit.” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He was definitely not equipped to deal with this. Hell, he could barely take care of _himself_ when he was sick (much to Lussuria’s ire), how the fuck would he be able to take care of Bel?

“ _Ludzu, paresta!”_ Bel screamed, cowering under the blankets. “ _Astaj manu vientu!”_

Xanxus stared, feeling the blood drain from his face. He didn’t understand what Bel was staying, but judging by the terror and pain on their face, he could take a wild guess.

“ _Vela, natse? Naste me urren?”_

“Bel.” Xanxus called, heart panging as he heard the whimpers. “Bel, it’s me.” He reached out to grab their shoulder, to provide some sort of comfort, but Bel flinched away.

“ _Ema, ema, ludzu!”_ Bel cried out, and Xanxus was heartbroken at the sight of tears trickling down their cheeks.

“ _Mia tempesta._ ” He crooned, ignoring the flinches and scooping Bel into his arms, holding them against his chest, fighting the urge to cry as well. Bel curled into his chest, and sobbed, shoulders shaking with every harsh inhale, hands gripping his shirt with intense strength.

“ _Ema, mikssa mindei arasta? Mikssa mindei arasta?”_ Bel wept, tears soaking into his hoodie and making it cling to his chest, skin feverish against his own, but still shaking with cold. He let his Flames creep out, pulling on some of Mammon’s Mist to make a physical blanket to pull over them.

“Shh, Bel. I have you. You’re safe now.” He shut his eyes, cradling Bel a little closer to his chest. “You’re safe.”

.

When he opened his eyes again, it was darker, almost sunset, and Bel was mumbling in Italian.

“ _Anan, padre, non lasciarmi.”_ The Storm twisted in his embrace, and he tightened it, feeling the heat of Bel’s skin against his own (tried not to think about _how much_ skin was pressed to his own). Bel was hot, too hot to be healthy. In his mind, he cursed the combination of assassins, numerous disease moulding into one, and then incubating in VARIA HQ. There was no set way to deal with the flu season, except drink fluids and eat toast and stay in bed underneath seventeen kilograms of blankets (as prescribed by Triton, because he _always_ caught the VARIA flu).

“ _Anan, non lasciarmi!”_ Bel moaned, pressing their face tighter against his chest, arms like iron bands around his ribs, making it a little hard to breathe.

“Bel.” Xanxus tried to push Bel off a little, but the Storm only tightened their grip, pressing their nose into his chest. He flushed. Bel was never this affectionate, and their nose was cold. One part of him was screaming to get up and put the appropriate distance between them, but the other was stating ‘ _no, you idiot, they’re never this affectionate, enjoy the hugs while you can’_.

“ _Anan, mi manchi tanto. Perche ' te ne sei andata?”_ Bel looked up at him, the angle awkward, and Xanxus could see the glassy sheen to their eyes that indicated that Bel was not quite…all there. He could safely add delusional to the list of symptoms.

“Bel, Anan is not here.” He said, gently moving Bel’s arms from around his waist.

Bel resisted for a moment, before bringing them up to clutch at his wrists and hide their face in their arms.

“ _Xanxus, perche ‘te ne sei andata? Fa troppo freddo.”_ Xanxus froze in his movements, eyes widening. _It’s too cold_. None, not _one_ of his Guardians had mentioned being cold while he was frozen. Had it just been Bel, or had the others felt it as keenly as his youngest Guardian? The Storm was shivering in his grasp, eyes squeezed shut, body rigid against his own

“ _Xanxus!”_

“I’m here.” Xanxus reassured his Storm, squeezing his eyes shut and running a soothing hand through the blonde curls.

“I’m here now, Bel.”

.

.

Mammon bumped into Lussuria on the way to find Xanxus, Lussuria carrying a few bottles of pills and one that sloshed, Mammon carrying the completed annual report. Both Guardians took a moment to stare uncomprehendingly at each other, weeks of non-stop working leaving their mental capabilities severely impacted.

“Annual report done?” Lussuria asked.

“ _Xanxus_ is taking care of Bel?” Mammon wasted a few short seconds trying to get their brain to reboot, wondering if perhaps the sight of all the zero’s at the end of their accounts this year (courtesy of Houses Selwyn, McLaggen and Burke) had permanently fried some cells from shock factor. Both Guardians looked at each other, blinked, and slowly, turned towards the door in front of them.

“There’s no screaming.” Mammon stated, eyes narrowed.

“Nothing smells burnt.” Lussuria added, placing a cautious hand on the door and opening it cautiously, Mammon ducking slightly in case a bottle flew towards their heads. When neither projectiles nor yelling came forth, they ventured in, Mammon scanning the room for immediate threats (yes, Xanxus did technically count as one), only to stop as Lussuria let out a soft squeak that sounded like a muffled squeal.

“Mammon, darling, over here!” Mammon made her way to the Sun’s side, holding back a coo of their own when they saw the Storm curled up on top of the Sky, both fast asleep. Lussuria moved forward to scan Bel, smiling at the results.

“Bel’s recovered.”

“Move.” Mammon requested politely, lifting a camera from her Territory and snapping a couple of pictures. Xanxus’ hand was twined into Bel’s curls, the other arm draped across their waist to hold them in place. Bel had their fingers directly on Xanxus’ pulse, the other hand resting over his heart. It was cute. Sickeningly adorable. There was a blanket or six resting on top of them, but Mammon could feel the Sky Flames twisting around them, lending their own unique warmth. The camera clicked a few more times, Lussuria suggesting a few new angles, before the Sun’s good mood plummeted.

“We should probably hide these.” Lussuria mourned. “Boss-honey would kill us.”

“Please tell me that was a joke.” Mammon deadpanned, lifting the camera once more. “These are going in the scrapbook.”

.

.

**Don’t stop me now (I’m having such a good time)- _LunaCat1920_**

.

.

“My son. You finally grace us with your presence.” Non Vongola began, about to launch into what was no doubt a lengthy tirade on his manners, looks and ‘utter disrespect of his elders’, when Xanxus interrupted him.

“Not your son.” He growled, flinging himself into his chair and letting his Guardians arrange themselves behind him. It had been a shitty few months, but end of year had passed with VARIA in the black with enough leeway to allow extra modifications to the uniform, and even upgrades on the jet that they used to get around the world.

By contrast, via the spies they had in Vongola Finance, Fluffy and his Guardians slowly taking over and reviewing policies and the CEDEF slowing crumbling into a madhouse due to Sawada’s incompetence, the Vongola was so far in the red that there was talk of selling a few of the holiday villas in order to cover their debt, since they were severely lacking in current assets.

It was these facts that Xanxus knew _exactly_ why they had been called into the Vongola Mansion, in the annual Alliance meeting. There would be demands that Bel leave his side, VARIA would be taken off restrictions, they would start bringing in money for the Vongola via their international connections, bada bing bada boom everyone was happy.

Except the entire Storm Division, bereft of a competent Officer.

Except his Guardians, unable to intervene.

Except Bel, stuck in a loveless marriage.

Except himself, missing his better half.

.

The droning of Don Vongola and the brown-nosing of the sycophants grated at his ears and rubbed his Flames the wrong…no, that was Sawada, flaring his Flames in the hopes that _someone_ would fall to Sky Attraction (now that he was, officially, missing a Sun, because _that_ had been a shit-show of epic proportions), and subsequently irritating Squalo and Lussuria, because they had to put up with it for _years_ and he was still doing it. God, Sawada was still a pretentious asshole, despite the fact that his son was _sitting right there._ Fluffy kept shooting his sperm donor annoyed looks, his own Sky Flames feeling a little prickly everytime Sawada’s brushed his.

“…VARIA report.”

Oh shit, time to tune in.

“Despite unfair restrictions,’ Xanxus began, keeping his face carefully blank, ‘VARIA has not gone over-budget this year. We have managed to meet the set mission requirements before we were placed on lockdown, but respectfully ask that in the coming year, VARIA be allowed to operate once more.”

“VARIA has not been operating for the past five months.” Don Visconti stated, shuffling his own sheaf of paper. “It has put the _Cosa Nostra_ quite out of balance.”

“The VARIA knew what they had to do in order to raise their restrictions.” Don Vongola deflected.

“By firing at least half of their task force?” Fluffy…Tsuna sounded vexed, and Xanxus was pleasantly surprised by his defence. “You’re not requiring the CEDEF to fire their female employees, why should the VARIA do the same?”

“An excellent point, Heir Vongola.” Don Lorenzo pointed out, eyes narrow. Xanxus recalled that Don Lorenzo had a couple of nephews in Sun, specializing in poisons. And maybe a niece in Cloud.

“And the restrictions will be risen.” Don Vongola pacified the increased grumblings. “As long as the Storm Officer steps down from their position. We cannot have a female in the Officer position. I am willing to allow them to remain in the general mook pool, however.”

“ _You fucking what?”_ It took Xanxus a moment to realize the snarl was his own, hands slamming onto the table and Flames blazing.

“A drastic demotion when the Storm Officer has done nothing wrong is a bit of a stretch, Don Vongola.” Dino’s voice was tight, Flames tightly under control in a way that suggested he was seconds away from snarling as well. Xanxus could feel Rain Flames drenching him, both from Squalo and the sword brat, but it was doing little to quench his ire.

“Would you rather the Storm Officer be married off, Xnaxus?” Sawada opened his stupid fat mouth, and Squalo’s Flames took on a brittle edge. “There are many heirs looking for strong Flame users in order to boost the bloodline…”

“Bel is _mine._ ” Xanxus growled, Flames eating away at the table. “So _shut your worthless fucking mouth, Sawada.”_

“Xanxus, do try to be reasonable…” Don Vongola began, and Xanxus snapped.

.

Fuck it. _Fuck_ the _ever-loving shit_ out of the old man and his stupid policies and dumb ideals.

.

He stood up, chair skidding on the carpet, and spun, grabbing his Storm Officer and hauling them into a passionate kiss, one hand finding their waist to tug them closer, the other reaching up to bury itself in their curls.

Bel made a pleased sound, arching eagerly into his hands and dragging their hands through his hair, making a point to scrape their nails against his scalp, making him groan.

There was a squeak, and then a thump, and a wash of voices enquiring after the Gesso brat, one exclaiming that he’d fainted.

“That’s it. That is it! I’m retiring. I’m done.” Xanxus pulled away to stare at Don Superbi in surprise, the one sensible Don (Visconti ad Cavallone excluded) shaking his head and standing up.

“As of tomorrow, my Heir, Pantera, will be taking over my duties. I’m too old for this shit.” He muttered the last part under his breath, before turning to Squalo. “You have my utmost sympathies.”

“Thanks, voi?” His Rain sounded confused, and Xanxus buried his face in Bel’s neck to hide a grin, feeling a swooping sensation of elation, Bel’s heart beating equally fast.

“Xanxus, you…” Nono Vongola seemed a loss for words, sounding strangled, and Xanxus faced him, back straight and jaw set.

“Bel is _mine._ ” He emphasized, glaring at Don Vongola. “My Guardian, my Officer, _mine._ You’ll be taking them over my dead body.”

“Our dead bodies.” Lussuria chimed in, eyes gleaming with unholy glee and Sun Flames.

“But…”

“As Heir Vongola,’ Tsuna stood, narrowing his eyes at Don Vongola, ‘I hereby lift VARIA restrictions.”

“Tsuna-fishy…”

“It is necessary to keep our allies happy, Sawada.” Tsuna’s voice was glacial. “Officer Belphegor is not only the most capable and deadly Storm I know, they are also one of the best Officers in the VARIA. It is also not our place to challenge the inner workings of the VARIA, as they are _independent contractors_ of the Vongola.”

“Heir Vongola is right. Not even your predecessors, Timeteo, dared to place their own as Officers.” Don Visconti backed Tsuna.

“Your restrictions were useless and petty.” Don Superbi hammered the final nail in the coffin. “I wonder, if we did not fall in line, would you restrict the movements of Alliance members also?”

.

“Enough.” Dino ordered, the room falling silent at the command of the young Sky. “We should adjourn for today, and reconvene tomorrow, after everyone’s tempers have cooled. This is not up for discussion.”

“Agreed.” Tsuna stood, many of the Don’s hastening to do so. “Don Visconti, Lorenzo and Scarlatti, I wish to speak with you in my office, if you have the time.”

“Of course, Heir Vongola.” Don Scarlatti bowed, and Xanxus narrowed his eyes, before Slaugh tugged on his hand and Viðarr was pushing him towards the door.

“Come on Boss, before Don Vongola corners you.” Mammon chided, gesturing to the old man making his way towards them.

Xanxus pulled Bel along, hurrying out the mansion with his Guardians hot on his heels, piling into the van as Squalo dove into the drivers seat and started the vehicle, peeling out of the driveway with a screech of tyres against concrete. Xanxus collided with Viðarr, got Slaugh’s elbows in his face, and ended up with Bel on his lap.

“Voi! Welcome to Flight ‘get-the-fuck-outta-here’ with Captain Squalo. Don’t worry about seatbelts, we’ll be parking in about six minutes, traffic going well.” Squalo bellowed, and Xanxus couldn’t help it.

.

He laughed, pulling Bel closer to him and holding them tight.

.

_Fuck the old man._

.

.

.

.

 **This magic spell you cast (this is la vie en rose)-** **_BladeAzeles_**

.

It was not his alarm that woke him.

Instead, it was the steady warmth of the sun on his skin, the sound of birds outside his window and the busy hum of assassins in the building, brushing against his Sky Flames that saturated the building. He kept his eyes shut, enjoying the soft golden light that filled his room, the warmth of the body in his arms and the contented hum of Storm Flames next to him. He could tell immediately that it was mid-morning already, and that he’d probably missed a meeting with Fluffy and Don Vongola, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. A few floors below, he could feel Squalo sparring with his Division, the delighted pulse from the bond indicating that he was in a good mood. Lussuria’s bond was radiant with happiness, most likely from having an empty infirmary for once, while Viðarr’s had a satisfied edge to it, Slaugh was drowsy, and Mammon was brimming with smugness; most likely the miser had made more money overnight (or stolen it from stupid Wizards). Basking in the bonds, he drifted back to sleep.

.

He next awoke when one of the birds abruptly stopped singing, courtesy of a bullet fired by an irate assassin, body instantly going into battle-mode, before he registered where he was, and he relaxed, resisting the urge to leap out of bed and dive for cover. Sprawled across his chest, Bel stirred, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Xan?” Bel slurred, eyes cracking open bare millimetres, before shutting again, the blonde mumbling something about early risers.

“Dumb assassin. Sorry.” Xanxus murmured back, tugging Bel a little closer and running a hand through their curls, the Storm practically purring at the ministrations, body going lax against his.

“Time?”

“Noon-ish. We slept through the whole morning.”

Bel hummed, and pressed their nose to his neck, inhaling deeply. Xanxus hummed, tugging gently on blonde curls, ignoring the sleepy protest, Bel’s breath fanning across his neck.

“Can we…” Bel began, trailing off when Xanxus kissed their shoulder, lips trailing up to their ear.

“Hmm?” Xanxus purred, his fingers tracing over the crescent moon on Bel’s hip, the skin smooth and warm beneath his fingertips, the mark black against otherwise pale skin.

“Xa…” Bel cut off when he pressed his lips to hers, happy to just enjoy kissing Bel without the chance of any interruptions (there had been moments in storage closets interrupted by nosey Mists that no one spoke of), lazily twining their tongues together and hands skimming up their sides, kissing his Storm soft and slow and warm, as if they had all the time in the world. Bel hummed, pulling away a little to stare into his eyes.

“Good morning.” They smiled at him, and his breath caught at the beautiful simplicity of the expression. God, he could write sonnets about that smile; the one only he got to see, when Bel had all their walls taken down and there was nothing between them and the rest of the world.

“Good morning, _amore mia.”_

“Sap.” Bel chided, but Xanxus was close enough to see the light dusting of pink across their cheeks, and their adorable freckles that they liked to pretend they didn’t have. He pressed a kiss to the tip of their nose, grinning a little at the scrunched up face they made.

“ _Sei bellisima, amore._ ”

“ _Stop._ ” Bel giggled, bring a hand up to cover their face. “You are incorrigible.”

“You love me for it.” Xanxus teased, poking their sides and running his fingers over their ticklish spots. Bel batted his hands away, eventually grabbing them and holding his wrists so he couldn’t move them anymore. Xanxus, intent on winning this round, merely brought his wrists up higher, and kissed Bel’s knuckles. He made the mistake of catching Bel’s gaze, and froze, drowning in the starry night sky of deep indigo and silver flecks, falling into the void or being sucked into a black hole without a care in the world.

“I do.” Bel breathed, a soft smile pulling at their lips, before leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth. They could have stayed like that forever.

Then Bel yawned, jaw cracking.

“Nap time?” Bel suggested, eyes already on their way to closing. Xanxus smiled, and broke their grip on his wrists, tugging them closer to curl up against his chest.

“Sounds like a fantastic idea.” He agreed, closing his eyes.

.

The world could wait.

.

.

.

**Leaving on a jet plane (don’t know when I’ll be back)**

Xanxus wakes Bel before he leaves on a mission

His bags were packed, and Sigma Squad were waiting for him downstairs, the VARIA jet set to leave in the next ten minutes, but Xanxus couldn’t go just yet.

“Bel.” He called softly, placing a hand on his Storm’s bare shoulder.

“Mrmphf.”

“Bel.” He shook them a little, gratified when Bel’s first instinct wasn’t to stab him, but to roll over and eye him blearily.

Bel had crawled into bed about four hours ago, fresh from ten missions back-to-back in Northern Africa, and had immediately curled into his warmth and dropped off to sleep, only stirring briefly when his own alarm went off. Xanxus himself was assigned eight assassinations; three in Denmark, two in Estonia, two in Latvia and one in Belarus, set to leave now. He hated September. September was always crazy. Everyone wanted shit done after the summer heat and before the awkward Christmas parties that no one wanted to attend because of family drama.

“Xan?” Bel slurred, and Xanxus raised an eyebrow at the nickname. “You going?”

“Yeah.” Xanxus nodded, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on the corner of Bel’s mouth. Bel made an unhappy sound, and wrapped their hands around his neck, pulling him back in for a proper kiss.

“Don’t be Stupid. I’ll kill you myself if you nearly die.” Bel breathed, dropping back to the bed and rolling over, falling asleep almost instantly. Xanxus blinked, then hid a smile and leaned over Bel, pressing a gentle kiss to their cheek.

“ _Stai al sicuro, mia tempesta_.” He murmured, lingering for a moment longer, before a pulse of irritated Storm Flames reminded him that he was due down stairs five minutes ago. Reluctantly, he turned away, and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

.

.

.

**It’s a beautiful day (and I can’t stop myself from smiling)- _Roostertheking_**

.

Xanxus heard the door creak open, snapping into wakefulness, but remaining relaxed so as to not wake up the blonde in his arms. Bel had landed late last night with Molan (Bel having been in England sorting out their multi-billion dollar empire, Molan retiring when Bel did to act as her assistant) and had crashed immediately, a week of dealing with the Wizarding World, the mundane world and the Snape-Prince coalition leaving the Storm mentally and physically exhausted.

“Papa?”

French, so…Arlette, of House Black. There was a light patter of feet, before a delicate weight settled across his back.

“Papa, _vous dormez?_ ”

“ _Non,_ Arlette. But _maman_ is.” He murmured back, tilting his head to meet a halo of wild black curls. “What is wrong?”

“Marko and Mihai are hungry.”

“What is the time?”

“Early, Papa.” Arlette pouted, the expression identical to Bel’s, and Xanxus resisted the urge to chuckle, carefully extracting his arm from underneath Bel. Bel stirred a little, tugging a pillow closer and curling into the duvet as the cold autumn air hit her back. Xanxus grabbed a hoodie and dragged it over his head, picking up Arlette and propping her on his hip.

“We will see about some breakfast, fledgling.”

“Papa!” Arlette whined, wiggling in his grip. “I’m not a bird!”

“Sure you aren’t, _mon petite aigle._ ” Xanxus teased his daughter, and the ravenette pouted, red eyes narrowed in childish anger, kicking at the door to the kitchen when he opened it. At the counter, Marko and Mihai of House Potter froze, Mihai with his hand in the cookie jar, sparking indigo. Arlette wiggled out of his grasp and dropped to the floor in a move that looked like she was taking lessons from Slaugh, and started protesting.

“Papa!”

“Mihai.” Xanxus picked up the cookie jar, and placed it on the highest shelf. “I remember stating no Flames use in the house.”

The Romani twins both looked embarrassed, and Xanxus ruffled their hair.

“I’ll make breakfast, shall I? Eggs?” The three children cheered, and immediately rushed to set the table, Mihai arguing with Arlette about who was getting the plates.

“ _Tata._ ” Marko tugged on his sleeve, and Xanxus crouched down to listen. “Are you dropping us off at school today?”

“I believe so.” Xanxus confirmed, the little Rain giving him a small smile.

“Is _mămică_ coming to?”

“She is still asleep, Marko.” Xanxus ruffled his hair. “She had a busy week, and got back late last night.”

Marko nodded solemnly, and reached out for a hug, which Xanxus readily gave him (he still reeled over the fact that the many children he and Bel adopted _liked_ getting hugs from him), pressing a kiss to the wild mess of hair that was, apparently, a House Potter trait. The intricacies of blood adoption still eluded him, but he understood enough, and had even consented to giving his own blood to the latest adoptees; Arlette, Finn and Soren. Soren, who had been a blonde, now looked _exactly like him._ All of these kids were legally his and Bel’s on paper and in blood and magic and some days he couldn’t believe it himself. He kept thinking that he would wake up and it would all be a dream and he would still be stuck in the Iron Fort with the shitty old man breathing down his neck.

“Papa! Breakfast!” Arlette demanded, and the tone of her voice was so _Bel_ that he laughed, turning on the stove and hunting through the pantry for some bread.

.

When he next walked into the kitchen after dropping the Terrible Trio off at school (their poor, poor teacher), Bel was sitting at the table, tablet in front of her and a still steaming cup of coffee next to her. Next to her, Zaria of House Peverell poked at a muffin, the Slavic teen still half-asleep. Her Greek half-brother, Atreus, was locked in a fierce debate with Parvana of House Potter over the last brioche, whilst Adaeze of House Black twisted her dark braids into a bun, some Wizarding newspaper in front of her declaring the ascension of the Black Potter Corp. as one of the most influential businesses in both worlds.

“Morning, _otec_.” Zaria mumbled as he passed her, reaching out to brush a hand against his shoulder, Cloud Flames swirling in a lethargic manner just beneath her skin. This was met with an instant flare of Lightning from Parvana, and Atreus’ Sun lashed against his skin, the young tween struggling to get it under control in response to the other Flames. Adaeze sneezed, and a teacup went flying from the table and into the wall, shattering upon impact.

Xanxus raised an eyebrow at Zaria, who, now fully awake, looked sheepish.

“No Flames at the table.” Bel admonished absently, taking a sip of coffee, eyes not moving from their tablet.

“Good morning.” Xanxus greeted his other children (oh god he had over eight children _what the fuck_ when did this happen?). There were assorted greetings, and an apology from Atreus, the white-blond’s fingers gingerly touching the scorch marks on Xanxus’ arms. Xanxus wrapped his arm around his son (his _son!)_ in a half-hug, leaning over to drop a kiss on Adaeze’s hair.

“ _Baba_!” Adaeze complained, but her lips quirked up into a smile regardless. Xanxus finally reached Bel, and swooped in to kiss her on the lips, ignoring the protests from the young adults at the table. Bel smiled against his lips, and reciprocated eagerly.

“Ew! _Otec! Matka!”_ Zaria complained, and there was a mock retching sound from Parvana.

Xanxus started laughing, leaning his forehead against Bel’s to catch his breath. He opened his mouth to reply, when…

.

_“VOOOOIIIII!!!!! XANXUS GET YOUR BRATS UNDER CONTROL!!!!”_

“I brought you back a present.” Bel deadpanned, relishing in Xanxus’ shocked face, before his Rain stomped into the kitchen, Soren and Finn hanging off his back and arms, giggling wildly.

“Uncle Squalo! Are you gonna show us some cool moves?” Finn pestered the Rain, bouncing excitedly.

“Voi! Brat, sit down and eat your breakfast!”

“Squ-chan, you shouldn’t be so mean!” Lussuria sang, swanning in behind them, Sun flames reaching out to gently caress first Xanxus, then Bel, then curl protectively around Atreus and the small boy trailing behind his Sun. Xanxus shot his wife a stunned look, and Bel merely smirked.

“Two presents, my bad.”

“Xan-chan!” Lussuria cooed, bouncing forward to wrap their arms around their Sky. Two years retired from the VARIA, Lussuria had immediately opened up a clinic in the slums, providing free or low-cost health care to those who couldn’t afford it (funded by House Peverell and Lussuria’s own generous savings). It kept his Sun busy, but Lussuria was loving every second of it. It probably also helped that most of the retired Sun Division had joined in, or opened similar clinics in nearby districts.

“Luss.” Xanxus greeted, hugging Lussuria a little tighter than normal. He _missed_ his crazy, flamboyant Sun.

“Oh! This is my apprentice, Niran.” Lussuria introduced. “Niran, my Sky, Xanxus….” Lussuria trailed off, eyes narrowed. “You never told me your last name, only that it wasn’t di Varia anymore.”

“He took my name.” Bel pointed out. “Since, you know, I actually had a last name.”

“All of them, voi?” Squalo deposited Soren in Bel’s lap, the little Storm puffed up like an offended kitten, red eyes glaring at the Rain.

“Kiuru.” Xanxus admitted quietly. “Bel’s birth name.”

“So you’re now royalty, voi?”

“He married me.” Bel sniped, moving their coffee cup out of the way of Soren’s grasping hands. “Of course he is. No, Soren, you may not have coffee.”

“I see business is booming, Bel honey. Multi-billions, is it?”

“Something like that.” Bel waved a dismissive hand. “Mammon enjoys the challenge, and has formally taken over the Finance Department. Fon was most put out, but he enjoys taking care of the two little menaces.”

“You mean your goddaughters, Leysa and Xifeng.” Xanxus commented wryly, and Bel snorted, standing up and giving Lussuria a hug.

“Like I said, menaces.”

“Could be worse, voi.” Squalo grumbled. “You could have been named godparent to Moriko.”

“That’s Alice and Perun’s problem.” Xanxus resisted the urge to shudder. He should have known that any offspring of Slaugh and Kyoya’s was going to be…Cloudy, and violent. Thankfully, the two Clouds had stopped at one, both busy with running the Foundation

“And how are my favourite Lightnings?” Lussuria snagged a teacup, pouring straight from the teapot and taking a seat next to Atreus, the younger Sun curling closer to the Thai doctor.

“Stealing just as many children as we are.” Xanxus snorted at Bel’s reply, grabbing the last brioche on the plate.

“They have over thirty in the old Nott Fortress in Russia.” Xanxus elaborated. “And miraculously, they keep finding more. I hear most of Viðarr’s old Division has joined as well. Dumisa and Raijin, at least. Bronte was there from the beginning.”

“How’s the…import-export business going, Squalo? Enjoying a pirate’s life?”

“Voi! I’m not a pirate!” Squalo protested. “But business is slow around this time, so I made the time to come and visit. Yosei and Triton are more than capable of managing it in my absence. My cousins are all excited and fighting each other for the next set of internships.”

“Oh, more pirates on the seas.” Lussuria teased. “Do you all wear tight leather pants and poet shirts as well?”

“Voi!”

.

Sitting down next to Bel and holding her hand under the table, listening to his Guardians bicker and tease each other and his adopted children, Xanxus allowed himself to smile.

.

.

.

.

All was well.

.


End file.
